


Epilogue

by blueenvelopes935



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Episode 9 sucks, F/M, Reylo - Freeform, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Fix-It, The fix-it fic I swore I would never write, What to do when he’s not Ben Solo?, Will the Force please fix this mess??, the galaxy is a mess, who knows where this is going?? not me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 145,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueenvelopes935/pseuds/blueenvelopes935
Summary: As the dust settles after the Battle of Exogol, an old iconoclast emerges from exile.  He’s worried that after yet another climactic conflict of Light versus Dark, again the wrong Force-users lived.  Fearing history will once again repeat itself, perpetuating the Jedi and the Sith, he takes matters into his own hands.  He finds the lonely scavenger girl with amazing Force in the Tatooine desert and promises, “I can raise the dead.”  It’s an offer he will not let Rey of Jakku refuse.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 127
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

_He’s not dead_.

It’s all Rey can think as she goes through the motions of the victory celebration with Rose, Poe, Finn, and the others. They are understandably euphoric in their triumph at Exogol. For the old Emperor Darth Sidious is dead. The new Emperor in the form of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren is dead as well. The last remnants of the Galactic Empire have been swept away, along with the remains of its ideological progeny, the First Order. The lost souls of Alderaan and Hosnia have received justice. At long last, peace will reign again throughout the galaxy.

Or so everyone thinks. All the revelers are fooling themselves, she fears. Because _he’s not dead_.

But she keeps the bad news to herself. She stands a little off to the side of the celebration, watching the jubilant throng. No one is surprised by that posture, most likely. She’s not the friendly type and the lightsaber at her waist tends to make people nervous.

Is this how Master Skywalker felt after Endor? Like he was being credited with a win he didn’t earn? Like this wasn't the final battle but yet another skirmish? She wonders. Because she’s absolutely certainly that Luke knew then what she knows now: _he’s not dead_. Luke knew who Snoke was all along, as well. He had to know. That’s the only way his actions make sense.

It’s why Luke never confronted Snoke to coax back his nephew from the Dark Side. He knew he couldn’t win.

It’s why Luke himself never rejoined the fight with his sister. Despite all the pleas to join the Resistance, Luke refused. He knew he couldn’t win. The best he would give was a Force projection that ultimately killed him.

Luke knew the whole time what she knows now: that Darth Sidious is not dead and never will be. The Death Star explosion didn’t kill him and the fight on Exogol didn’t kill him. What does this mean? She doesn’t know. But if you can’t defeat him, she worries, you have to live with him. _This isn’t going to go the way you think._ Luke’s warning turns out to have been a massive understatement. Her sense of futility is only matched by her disillusionment.

So, what now?

In the following days, Poe and Finn take charge. Poe starts setting up a makeshift government and planning elections for a new Senate. Finn takes the lead liberating First Order controlled worlds who want to hang on despite the demise of their leadership. As a former stormtrooper turned Resistance hero, he is the perfect person for the job. 

There is so much optimism, so much spirit of possibility, among her young friends. Each is ready to do their part to step up to remake the Galactic Republic a third time. All except her. Rey stands on the periphery of meetings watching as others eagerly volunteer while she remains silent. No one objects, of course. They all expect she’s going to play the Master Skywalker role and disappear to some scenic spot with her old books to train a new generation of Jedi. They’re wrong, but she’s not letting on. 

While recent events have helped her understand better why Luke withdrew from the galaxy, she still resents him. Master Skywalker could have explained all this so she understood why he refused to train her. He might have better presented his case for why the Jedi Order should end. If she had known then what she knows now—that you can’t win—she would have appreciated why Luke decided to exit the fight. For surely, he saw the cycle of Dark versus Light as a trap. Luke must have realized that by promoting the fiction of a Light Side Jedi triumph as some happily-ever-after, all you do is perpetuate the conflict. It’s a fight that consumed three generations of his family and prompted three galaxy-wide civil wars in fifty years. So many people have died and for what? So they can do it all again in a decade or two? 

It’s discouraging. She wants to help, but she fears perpetuating the problem.

She attempts to talk to Finn about it. He listens and decides that she’s suffering from a lack of confidence due to Master Skywalker’s lackluster example. Finn doggedly encourages her. Rey’s concerns die on her lips in the face of his relentless enthusiasm. Suddenly, she feels like she will be letting him and everyone else down if she doesn’t at least try. She ends up feeling very pressured. 

Maz Kanata listens quietly to her fears. Then, she starts in on the tough love. Suck it up, Maz tells her with her characteristic bluntness. The Force chose you for this role, she contends, and the Force doesn’t make mistakes. Rey ends that conversation feeling resentful. At Maz, at Luke, and at the Force.

Busy Poe doesn’t even want to hear her concerns. He summarizes it succinctly: you handle the church and I’ll handle the state. He will get the framework for democracy in place and she can handle the religious side of things and it will be like the old days when the Jedi Order advised the Senate and both institutions worked in concert for the furtherance of the values of the old Republic. For Poe, like his mentor Leia Organa before him, is slavishly devoted to remaking the glorious past.

It’s a past that has failed twice in rapid succession. But no one pays any heed to that lesson. They chalk it up to the influence of the evil Sith. But now that Darth Sidious is gone, along with the Dark Siders Snoke and Kylo Ren, nothing stands between the galaxy and a lasting peaceful future. But Rey of Jakku, who scavenged among the wrecks of the last final battle of a prior war, worries otherwise. 

_Let the past die. Kill it if you have to_. 

Maybe Kylo Ren was right? She wishes he was around to talk to. They did far more fighting than they ever did talking. She regrets that now. She also regrets that she never told anyone about their Force bond. Because then they might temper their gleeful words about his death. No one at the Resistance understands that she and the erstwhile Ben Solo had a strange private relationship that led them to cross swords several times before things somehow things culminated in a dying kiss. He was her enemy but also a friend? He opposed her until he tried to help her. She wishes now that she had taken him up on his offer to approach Darth Sidious together. But she hadn’t trusted him and with good reason. 

The Resistance knows that Kylo Ren appeared at the eleventh hour to join her to fight Darth Sidious. They believe he did it to protect his position. That he didn’t want the old Emperor to steal his new Empire. And maybe his motivation was some of that, but she believes there was more to it. That when Kylo stood with her on Exogol, it was for more than selfish reasons. Was it to help her? Was it to help the galaxy? She’ll never know. 

It’s all so confusing. She wants to do the right thing, but she’s not sure what that means. It leaves her paralyzed with self-doubt. She’s having a crisis of confidence, Poe and Finn insist as they cajole mightily. But they also allow her to take a ship to Tatooine to get some alone time. They think she misses her desert world, but in truth she has an errand in mind. She’s hoping it will help her to move forward. 

Tatooine is a desert world, but that’s where the similarities to Jakku end. This place is settled, with multiple large urban areas. There is true commerce and some basic infrastructure. Looking around at the Mos Eisley spaceport she has arrived at, Rey thinks that Tatooine is what Jakku aspires to be.

She sets out on a hired speeder bike in search of a place she’s only heard about. With minimal information to go off of, she trusts in the Force to show her the way. BB8 is with her but his maps don’t seem to help. As she heads east of something called the Dune Sea, she pulls the bike to a halt to scan the arid surroundings. Standing under blazing twin suns, she is bleak. This moment is a very literal depiction of how she feels in the aftermath of Exogol: alone in a wilderness with no sense of direction or purpose. Lost. 

_You’re not alone._ She had told Kylo—Ben—whoever he really was—that very same thing. It’s one of those comforting statements people make like ‘ _No one’s ever really gone_.’ They are nice words, hopeful words, well-intentioned words. But at least in her case, they are lies. Because she’s as alone now as she has ever been. Different world, different desert, different time, but same problems. She has more facts about the past, but she still doesn’t know who she is or what her future will be. Because _he’s not dead_. And, she worries, that means he will be coming back for her at some point.

Gulping back those fears, she climbs back on the bike and lets the Force take control. It brings her to an especially desolate spot. Is this the place? She can’t be certain as she approaches the remains of a sandy homestead. This isn’t her home. It’s someone else’s. Someone who left it long ago with no intent of ever returning. All the people from here who mattered were gone at that point. So why is she here decades later? She’s not really sure. But she wanted to go to a place that had meaning for the family whose trials and tribulations have written galactic history for generations. That their origins are this humble is comforting actually. 

She brings with her two swords. She wraps them gently and then buries them in the sand with the Force. After all, there’s nothing left of any of the Skywalkers she knew to actually bury. From Luke, to Leia, to Ben, they all disappeared into the Force they revered. This is the best she can do to honor their passing.

Should she say something? It feels like she should say something. But all she can manage is ‘May the Force be with you.’ Looking up, she sees the faint, shimmering apparitions of Luke and Leia standing side by side. The ghostly sight isn’t scary. It’s comforting. It helps her feel less alone. It makes her smile. Her eyes linger on the flickering version of her reluctant Jedi Master and she whispers, “I forgive you,” aloud. If ever she sees Ben Solo in the Force, she will tell him the same thing. For each of the Skywalkers did their best in their own way, she has realized. And that’s all you can ask of anyone.

Rey hears a noise and whirls. An old woman has appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She approaches speaking of the homestead and asks for her name. 

“Rey . . . Rey Skywalker,” she replies impulsively, after glancing again at the increasingly murky Force mirages of her two dead mentors. She smiles bravely, hoping they don’t think she is usurping their legacy. But truthfully, she can’t bear to claim the name Palpatine.

The old woman smiles back. Then . . . she morphs into an old Muun with a ruined face. He’s seven feet tall with flashy golden robes that are very out of place.

“You!” she shrieks. She lights her new yellow saberstaff and brandishes it as she hotly accuses, “You’re dead! I saw you die!”

“Oh, I’m not dead . . . not yet. Not ever, I hope.” The towering figure of dead Leader Snoke smiles affably down at her.

Rey answers with a swing.

“Good. Gooood,” Supreme Leader Snoke approves of this aggression as the sword passes harmlessly through his Force projection. “So Light and yet so Dark.”

She is momentarily confused. “Whaaat?” Then, she grits her teeth and swings again with the same result. Confounded, she lowers her weapon and steps back. She’s wary now. “Who are you? You’re not Snoke.” Could this be her grandfather in disguise? Has he found her already? Or is this just a Force apparition like the ghosts of Luke and Leia she just saw? “Who are you?” she snarls with true menace.

The man with the familiar gargoyle face is a stranger after all. He proudly announces, “I am Darth Plagueis the Wise, Apprentice to Tenebrous and Master to Sidious.”

“I killed Darth Sidious!” she hisses, brandishing her sword anew. 

The man who looks like Snoke but isn’t Snoke looks her over with relish. “Such strength, such power. You are a Skywalker, my dear.” He cocks his head to the side and flashes a wry smile. “In all my time, I have yet to take a female Apprentice. You will be the first—"

“Wrong! I’m not a Skywalker—I’m a Palpatine! And I will kill you like I killed him!” She abandons her sword. Instead, she raises a hand and summons the Force as she bares her teeth.

It does nothing against the patient, smiling alien in the gold dress. 

“Wanting to kill your father definitely makes you a Skywalker,” he chuckles, “but Sheev Palpatine wasn’t your grandfather. You’re not the child of his rejected imperfect clone or whatever lie he told you. No, my dear, you are something far more special than that. You are a child of the Force. Created by me when Sheev got his hands on the last of my Anakin’s bloodline. Welcome home, welcome home, Daughter,” Snoke-who-isn’t-Snoke exclaims. He beams, “Together, we will finish what Darth Vader started.”

Rey takes a minute to process the preposterous news. Then she rejects it. “That’s not true! It’s impossible!” she sputters.

“Search your feelings. You shall know it to be true. Come now, Daughter. You have longed for a family. And now, you shall have one in me.”

She is belligerent and bewildered, but her response is just like every Skywalker come before her in these ‘I am your father’ moments. “I’ll never join you!” she vows. Good Jedi that she is, she will rebuke this Sith devil, whoever he is. Her days of trying to understand Dark Siders are over. Those impulses died when she reached out a hand to Ben Solo and ended up in handcuffs in Snoke’s throne room.

“Now, don’t be so hasty. Daughter, you need a teacher and you need a friend. I can give you both.”

“Stop calling me Daughter! I don’t want anything from you!” she snarls back. 

“Now, now, we both know better.”

“If I wanted to rule the galaxy, I would have accepted my grandfather’s offer on Exogol!”

“You mistake me.” The stranger is calm in the face of her heated emotion. “I am not offering you power. You already have power. I am offering you guidance and love.”

“No thanks!” She doesn’t want anything from anyone whose name begins with ‘Darth.’

But the man keeps negotiating. “I can raise the dead,” he promises. “That means I can bring back the man who died so that you could live . . . for all things are possible in the Force.”

She blinks. The next knee-jerk rejection dies on her lips. She blinks again. The possibility he raises arrests her.

“It’s alright to want something for yourself,” the man encourages quietly. “Forget that Jedi dogma. There is no shame in attachment. Love is a great blessing.”

“I don’t love anyone,” she chokes out bitterly, fighting back a hot rush of tears that is humiliating in the moment. But this is the crux of her plight and the curse of being forever alone. She has no one to love and no one who loves her. It ought to make her the perfect candidate for Jedi training, but it also makes her miserable.

Seeing this, Snoke-who-isn’t-Snoke presses his case. “I know you miss him. You were Force bonded to him. I can bring him back. You two never even had a chance.”

She is taken aback . . . and—as awful as it sounds--considering. Because if it were possible, would she want to bring back Ben Solo? That would complicate things enormously for the Resistance and the galaxy. And what would it mean for her? She’s not sure how she feels about Ben, except she knows she has a lot of feelings about him. But how does he feel about her? She has no idea, honestly. Plus, she did stab him on Endor before she stole his ship . . .

Rey feels put on the spot. Suddenly torn between what she maybe-kind of-perhaps wants for herself and what she knows is right. Because for a galactic democracy to move forward, it has to evolve past the overpowered Skywalkers ruling from throne rooms and plotting civil wars with ragtag bands of revolutionaries. Reviving Ben won’t help that cause. But oh, how tempting it sounds to have someone else around who understands her plight. Especially one with such dreamy dark eyes and muscle-bound arms.

No! What is she thinking? Death is the way of things, the way of the Force. It even says so in Luke’s old books. This leftover ghostly Sith Lord—who may be Emperor Palpatine in disguise—is just tempting her. He’s toying with her. Manipulating her. So, steadfast, she refuses. “Go away! Leave me alone!”

“We both know you don’t want to be alone,” her persistent tormentor reasons. Sounding like a corrupt version of Master Skywalker, he urges, “Search your feelings, Rey. Take time to think it over. You must do what you feel is right, of course.”

Her consternation comes out her mouth. “Why should he get another chance?” she demands. Why not Leia or even Luke? “Ben had so many chances! I stood in that throne room and gave him a way out—and he refused!” She is emotional all over again now at the memory of her bitter disappointment. “He had the chance to make things right and he refused!” In the moment, it had felt every bit as much a personal rejection as a political one. 

Her outburst calms and in its wake, she is embarrassed by her display of emotion. But the threatening stranger doesn’t ridicule her. Instead, he sounds thoughtful as he observes, “My dear, the stubborn one is you.”

Then, the mysterious figure disappears into thin air. 

Spooked, she stands there a full five minutes before she raises a hand to exhume the lightsabers she just buried. What was she thinking abandoning them here? She’s too much a scavenger not to realize that they may come in handy. She has a new enemy, it seems.


	2. chapter 2

“Uh . . . ” he groans aloud. He has the worst headache ever. Apparently, being dead not only sucks, but it hurts. Peeping one eye open tentatively, he immediately reacts to what he sees, throwing up a hand to summon a desperate Force push before he rolls away defensively. “UGH!”

His efforts accomplish nothing.

“Welcome back,” says the familiar voice sounding especially smug.

“Fuck!” Kylo vents a rare curse. But this moment merits the lapse. He’s on the floor in a strange place and ugly Snoke is peering down at him curiously. “FUCK!!!” He glares mutinously up at his old Master. Because why not? He cut this guy in two, so it’s not like he can piss him off further. 

“There is no cause for alarm. Do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of you!” he retorts. “I killed you!” Looking around blankly, Snoke is the only thing he recognizes. And maybe, that makes sense. “I’m in Force Hell, aren’t I? I’m in Force Hell with YOU!” He glares up at his old Master with pure Dark hatred. “Is this mutual punishment for the Starkiller?” he guesses.

The mangled giant that once led the First Order frowns. “There is no Heaven and there is no Hell. You know that, young Skywalker.”

Skywalker? “Don’t call me that! It reminds me of that talking corpse on Exogol.” Shooting his one-time tormentor a pointed glare, Kylo goes low. “You know, he looks worse than even you do.”

“Does he now?” Snoke looks almost amused. 

He smirks back. “Hard to imagine, but true. Why am I naked?” he wonders aloud.

“You left your clothes behind when you died and disappeared into the Force. With you, there was no body to revive.”

He guesses that’s a good thing. At least Darth Sidious can’t use his dead body as a host or a clone or whatever his science experiments are. But the fact remains that he is naked as the day he was born and that puts him at a considerable disadvantage when confronting his old boss.

“You’re clothed, I notice.” Snoke looks like an Emperor in exile in the afterlife. He’s all decked out in princely dark robes and a voluminous hooded cape, which is strange because he died in his favorite golden dress. But whatever. Kylo wants that cape. He sneers, “Unless you want to keep averting your eyes for the rest of eternity, you can hand me that cape.” Time to cover the Skywalker family jewels that very regrettably never got much use in life.

Again, Snoke looks vaguely amused. “Very well.” He removes his cloak and hands it over. The guy is seven feet tall, so it’s long. But at least now he’s mostly covered. But damn, crawling to his feet hurts. His leg is killing him.

As Kylo arranges the cape for maximum coverage, he gripes, “I guess this could be worse. I could be in Force Hell with Luke. Or wait,” he has a second thought that makes him shudder, “my mother.”

“Indeed. That would be Hell,” Snoke answers, with the ghost of a smile about his crooked mouth. Strangely enough, his old Master seems to have cleaner teeth in the afterlife. Come to think of it, his fingernails are considerably less grimy as well. This Snoke looks far more fastidious than the living version.

Kylo starts limping around now as he assesses his surroundings. It looks like he’s in some Core world mogul’s country villa. “Force Hell is a nice place. I could get used to this,” he decides. “How’s the food here?” And wait, do you actually eat when you’re dead? He doesn’t know. 

His Master chides anew, “There is no Hell—“

“Who knew death would have so much contemporary art?” He cuts Snoke off, something he would never dare do in real life. Kylo cocks his head and squints at an enormous abstract painting on the far wall. “That one looks familiar.”

“It’s a masterpiece of the late Republic era,” Snoke informs him. And who knew the guy was an art lover? His throne room on the _Supremacy_ was so tacky that he would never have guessed the man has highbrow art knowledge.

Kylo himself has none of that sophistication. He shrugs. “Okay. If you say so.” He keeps looking around. “Who else is here? Please don’t say Darth Sidious.” 

“Just us and my two servants at the moment.”

His head whips around at this news. “No fair, you still get servants?”

“Yes, Apprentice.”

“Do I get servants?” He peevishly refuses to let his old Master outclass him on the optics, even in death.

“We should get you a medic droid. You’re bleeding.” Snoke points to blood drops in the marble floor.

He squints at the very tangible evidence of his earthly body. “Huh. Didn’t think that would happen here.” Aren’t you supposed to be your best self in the Force afterlife? Because he’s not. He feels like he figured he might feel had he survived old Sidious. Namely, horrible and ready for a bacta tank. Everything hurts currently.

But that’s not the only way death fails to live up to his expectations. He sighs as he glumly admits aloud, “I was hoping there would be others. You know . . . like my Grandfather,” he adds sheepishly. Luke’s tale of Vader’s deathbed conversion must have been true after all. Because Anakin Skywalker evidently went to Force Heaven while he gets stuck in Force Hell with his cross-dressing monster Master as a roommate.

Snoke correctly reads his disappointment. “Lord Vader drops in now and then.”

“Does he?” Kylo answers hopefully. “Who else?”

“I talk to Lord Maul sometimes.”

“Really?” Not what he expected.

“I still feel guilty about him.”

Guilty?? “Why? I didn’t know you’d ever met him,” Kylo accuses. Normally, a tone like that might merit lightning for a rebuttal. But since he killed Snoke and they’re both dead, the threat of violence is no longer a deterrent. He’s telling it like it is now. Screw being the deferential Apprentice.

“Maul and I started the Rebellion together.”

That’s a lie. And a bold one. “Did not.”

“Did too. It's a little-known fact.”

“Whatever,” Kylo brushes him off. But then, he wonders aloud, “When Maul shows up, is he cut in two? Because I see you’re back in one piece.” So how come he’s a wreck? Kylo sighs and grabs onto a nearby chair for support. “I didn’t think I would be so mangled still. I feel awful,” he admits. Because why not admit to weakness now that he’s dead? 

“Maul appears to me in his prime, like your grandfather does.”

“Then why am I still hurt?” Kylo grumbles. “You know my leg really hurts. Like broken hurt.”

“Then sit down, Apprentice. What exactly happened to you?” Snoke asks. 

“Everything,” he brags. Exogol is probably his best war story, after all. Too bad it didn’t end better. He sighs. “I fought my way past the knights to Sidious and then he yeeted me—“

“Yeeted?” Snoke is above slang, apparently. Even dead, he’s a prissy bitch.

Kylo’s having none of it. “Yes, yeeted. I got yeeted down some chasm. Clearly, it was a setup. But he should have known I would live.”

“Because you’re a Skywalker?”

“No,” Kylo answers testily, “because no Force user who falls down a pit ever dies.” He starts listing off recent examples. “Maul on Naboo—cut in two, falls in a chasm, and still lives. Luke on Bespin—loses a hand, jumps out of a floating city, and still lives. Sidious on the second Death Star—gets chucked down a reactor shaft, the station is blown to pieces, and he still lives. See what I mean?”

“Interesting observation,” Snoke allows. 

“So then there’s me—Force yeeted into oblivion and I crawl out. Surprise—NOT!—still alive!” When Snoke raises a skeptical eyebrow, Kylo rushes to assure him, “He didn’t actually kill me until later, you know.”

“You killed yourself, I believe. For the girl.”

The girl. THE girl. He says her name before he can suppress it. “Rey . . . “ He runs a bloody hand through his hair and looks down. “She hates me.”

“She kissed you.”

He looks up sharply. “No, she didn’t.”

“She did. I read it in your mind.”

Really? “Then why don’t I remember it?”

“Subjects often do not recall the last moments before their death.”

Well, that’s a bummer. He gets a kiss from Rey and he can’t remember it. “Was it a good kiss? Because I died healing her for that kiss.”

“It was lovely.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. Was it a real kiss?” Was there tongue? “Or was it just some peck on the cheek?”

“It was a romantic kiss.”

The news just adds to his consternation. “Yeah? Great . . . just great . . . Well, a lot of good that does me now. I guess the bond dissolved when I died. But maybe I can haunt her a little.”

“Miss her?” Snoke goads. 

“No.” Yes. “That girl is a wreck. A total psycho mess,” he jeers.

“You would know.”

What’s that supposed to mean?? “I didn’t like her. It was more like I felt sorry for her. She was duped by Luke. I felt sorry for her, that’s all . . . ” He felt sorry for the girl who was terribly lonely . . . like himself. Rey had been completely taken in by his treacherous family . . . like he was long ago. And like himself, Rey was full of Force she didn’t understand and could barely control. He lurched Light at times and she lurched Dark. It’s like they were the mirror image of one another. It arose an uncharacteristic empathy in him. To say Rey intrigued him would be an understatement.

Damn, he wishes he could remember that kiss. “So . . . did she kiss me or I did I kiss her?” He tries to ask the question casually, but he’s dying to know.

“She kissed you.”

“Yeah?” Wow. He’s shocked but in a good way. 

“Surprised? You shouldn’t be.” Old Snoke crosses his arms and passes judgement. “That girl is forward. She also made the first move in that handholding tryst Skywalker interrupted, I recall,” Snoke snorts. “So chaste you both are. I can’t decide which of you is the more repressed Padawan.”

Kylo glares. “Just how much of my mind did you read?”

“All the good parts.”

“What does that mean?”

Snoke ignores the question. “Apprentice, next time you give a woman the ‘join me’ recruitment speech, shut up and kiss her. Traditionally, the Sith were men of action. Men of great passion. Men who seduced. You don’t embrace Darkness because you are persuaded by someone’s oral argument. So less yapping next time around.”

“Fuck you,” is Kylo’s answer. Besides, none of this matters now. Still, feeling defensive, he changes the topic. “So you died like a chump on that throne,” he disses old Snoke. “You didn’t see that sword lighting? Come on, it was almost too easy.”

“It was too easy,” Snoke answers flatly. “That was one of many clues you missed. Sidious let that happen.”

“Why? If he wanted the girl, why not just kill me then and take her? She was in custody at the time,” he remembers.

“He wanted you two to fight it out for dominance. Sheev wanted to make sure he hosted himself in the winner.”

“Well, I’m glad I died.” Kylo gives an involuntary shiver at the memory of creepy Palpatine. “I’d much rather be dead that have that guy controlling me.”

“Oh, agreed.”

Snoke sounds glad to be rid of Darth Sidious’ influence, however that actually worked. All in all, Kylo thinks, Snoke is remarkably accepting about his murder. Which is good, if they are going to be dead best buddies. “So . . . no hard feelings?” Kylo ventures.

“None at all,” his old Master answers blithely. For a fleeting moment, Kylo thinks the guy might laugh out loud.

Enough with all this standing. His leg is really killing him. Kylo collapses into a plush couch in the luxurious lounge they’re in. As he pokes at his swollen and increasingly numb leg, he muses, “Do you think Yoda, Luke, and the rest of the Jedi are in Force Heaven?”

“How would I know?” Snoke deadpans.

“Good point.” That was a stupid question.

“So, did you know you were Sidious’ puppet all along, or were we both fooled?” he probes.

“I’m no puppet.”

Oh, come on. “He has cloning vats with extra versions of pickled you hanging around.”

“I’m not surprised,” the old guy sighs. “Sheev always was ghoulishly obsessed with cloning.”

“So how does this work?” He’s back to thinking of Rey. Perplexing, befuddling, infatuating Rey. “Can I haunt Rey from Force Hell?” To test things out, he beckons a knickknack from a table across the room to his hand. To his great relief, the Force obeys his command. “Still got it,” he smiles at the first good news he’s had since he died. But wait—“Does everyone have the Force in the afterlife?” When you’re one with the Force, you’re technically the Force, so does that mean everyone has the Force?

Snoke approaches to look down on him when he announces, “Apprentice, this is not the afterlife.”

“Don't tell me that ‘there’s no Hell’ bit again,” Kylo snaps back. “Because hanging out with you is definitely Hell.” His overall discomfort combined with his throbbing leg are making him especially short tempered. “Two Supreme Leaders under one roof is one too many.” Talk about awkward. Well, it would be awkward if he cared, which he doesn’t. What does anything matter any longer once you’re dead? There’s no fear of failure or reprisals. No fear of looking stupid and feeling ashamed. You’re dead. There’s nothing left to fear and no one to impress. And damn, that is going to make things exceedingly boring in time. 

“Kylo Ren.” That deep baritone commands his attention. 

He looks up from where he is poking at his leg.

“I am not, nor have I ever been, Supreme Leader Snoke.”

“Yeah? Then who are you? Because you look just like the ugly fucker I cut in two.”

“Naturally. The man you know as Snoke was a clone Lord Sidious made of me. Probably from my ear.” Snoke reaches up to finger self-consciously at his half missing left ear. It’s the side of his face that looks like someone stuck a lightsaber through it. 

Skeptical Kylo answers back brutally. “Why would anyone want two of you?”

“To entrap the last Skywalker.”

That’s uh . . . that’s not the answer he was expecting. Kylo looks down and blinks. Suddenly, he’s lost his cocksure attitude. Because that answer had the ring of truth.

“He who controls the Chosen One, controls the Force. And you, Obi-Wan Skywalker Organa Solo, are the last of your bloodline. So naturally, Sheev Palpatine set out to entrap you.”

His eyes narrow. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I have never met you before today and the man you knew as Snoke was not me. He was an imposter created and animated by my old Apprentice in order to dupe you. Kylo Ren, you and the rest of the galaxy were very effectively gaslighted.”

Kylo says nothing. But he feels the hair on his back neck and arms rising. 

“You died on Exogol saving the girl, but you are now very much alive. I brought you back. You have been resurrected in the Force.”

“R-Resurrected?” he echoes in slight horror. “Wait—I’m not dead?”

“Not any longer. I plucked you back from the netherworld of the Force after many hours of meditation.” Snoke-who-claims-he-isn’t-Snoke shoots him a pointed look, adding, “You’re welcome, Apprentice.”

“Thanks . . . I guess.” But if this guy—whoever he is—thinks that means he owns him now, he’s wrong. “So you are . . . ??”

“A friend.”

Kylo calls bullshit on that. Force users who resurrect people are mainly the foe types. Of the arch villain variety, no less. It’s not like resurrection is some beginner skill. “To cheat death is a power only one has achieved—“

“Don’t believe that. Sheev did it. His was a rudimentary method, but it worked.”

Kylo starts connecting the dots as his heart begins pounding and his adrenaline surges. “Sheev Palpatine was your Apprentice?”

“Yes.”

“You’re Plagueis!” he declares in a bizarre eureka moment that is instantly full of dread. Because Darth Plagueis the Wise looms large in the pantheon of Sith Lords. Even his Apprentice who hated him revered his awesome power. Kylo is suddenly thoroughly intimidated.

“I have gone by many names but, yes, I am Darth Plagueis.”

“Fuuuck.” Yet again, he’s being manipulated, Kylo suspects. “You’re dead!” he now accuses. “Sidious hacked you to death about the time he became Chancellor.”

“Yes. And yet, I live.”

“Because you’re Darth Plagueis the Wise and you can cheat death . . . ” Kylo reasons aloud.

The mysterious Snoke lookalike nods. “My old Apprentice stole my Empire and ran it into the ground. But more importantly, he stole my boy.” 

Snoke-who-claims-he-isn’t-Snoke now levels him a pointed look. And, uh oh. This has all the makings of an ‘I am your father’ moment and Kylo doesn’t want to hear it. If his mom got with this old fossil cheating on Han Solo, he definitely doesn’t want to know it. 

“That boy was Anakin Skywalker.”

Whew. Wait---er . . . what?

“I created Darth Vader in the Force. I set out to create life as a Sith god, to fashion a perfect Dark Apprentice to do my bidding. But instead, I created the Chosen One . . . the Sith’ari . . . in the form of a bastard slave boy. The Force gave me what I sought, but in granting that wish, it sowed the seeds of my undoing. It was a lesson in hubris.”

Kylo blinks. Luke Skywalker told a very different tale of his grandfather’s miraculous virgin birth. Namely, he omitted all the Sith alchemy.

“I was quite chagrinned initially. Until, of course, I stepped back from my own ambitions and broke free of the ideology of the old Sith. Forget all that orthodoxy, Apprentice, and let the Force guide you. It will take you to places that are both Light and Dark.” The old Master frowns. “Unfortunately, that was a lesson your uncle learned too late. For he, like every other Skywalker, was descended from the Force itself. All of you have equal capacity for Light and Dark. That means part of Luke Skywalker always tended towards the Darkness, just like part of you hears the call to the Light.” Snoke-who-claims-he-isn’t-Snoke wags a finger at him. “Conflict is intrinsic in who you are. It is not a character flaw.”

His strange host is harsh now in his condemnation. “Luke Skywalker squandered the chance he was given. Kenobi and Yoda had brainwashed him too effectively. In the end, Lord Vader’s sacrifice at Endor was wasted on that zealot. Your fool uncle set about trying to form a new Jedi Order while your mother played politician remaking the Republic. Free will,” the Sith Master laments, “can be an unfortunate thing. It leads people to make the same mistakes over and over again.”

Kylo is all ears for trashing Luke Skywalker. This is a version of the family history he’s never heard before. But he’s still untangling the relationships. “If Vader is your—”

“Son in the Force.”

“Then that makes me?”

“My great-grandson in the Force.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to say to that claim. It sounds so ridiculous and yet true at the same time.

Maybe-Plagueis is rueful now. “I watched Sheev sink his claws into you as a child. I declined to intervene. I wanted to see how it would all play out. After all, you had your mother and uncle to protect you.”

That admission hits a nerve. “They did nothing!”

“I know. I’m sorry. They failed you.”

Kylo fumes. It’s a very sore topic.

“Perhaps I should have seen that coming. When I knew him, Luke was a true Jedi zealot. But I was confident that in time without the influence of other classically trained Jedi around, he would begin to think for himself. But instead, Skywalker became more and more a prisoner to the past. He feared becoming his father for all the wrong reasons.”

“You knew Luke?” Kylo probes.

“Uhmm . . . yes. Your Grandfather and I approached him long ago. We wanted an alliance to depose Sidious and to end the Rebellion. But Luke was too brainwashed by Kenobi to see reason. And he was afraid to trust us.”

“I never knew . . .”

“Your Grandfather didn’t help things on Bespin, unfortunately. Lord Vader bungled things badly. There was no coming back from that. Even when he leaked the rebels the second Death Star plans, they still wouldn’t trust him.”

“Vader helped the Rebellion?” Kylo blinks.

“Yes. And I funded it. Maul helped for a while as well.”

“You’re kidding me—"

“We all had a grudge against Sheev,” Plagueis reminds him.

And, actually, that’s not comforting knowledge. “If three Sith Lords couldn’t take Palpatine out . . .“

His mysterious host waves away that concern. “Our triumvirate fell apart before it even got started.”

“Oh.”

“It was a great loss for the galaxy. But that’s a story for another time.”

Maybe so, but he’s dying to hear it. “So, you've been in the background all along? Just hanging out in exile?”

“Yes, and your family knew it. They kept the truth from you. Probably because they believed Sheev’s wretched Snoke puppet was me. That pretense probably confirmed their worst fears that somehow, Sheev and I had reunited as Master and Apprentice to rebuild the Empire. Sheev was quite masterful in his ruse,” Plagueis adds begrudgingly. “He fooled the ones who mattered.”

“Why didn't you intervene?” Kylo demands.

“I was afraid.” 

Kylo blinks. Did he hear right? Because that statement is sort of jaw dropping for a Sith Master. 

“I was afraid,” Darth Plagueis repeats. “The last time I attempted to influence things, it blew up in my face. I thought perhaps it was time to stand down and let the Force work itself out.” 

“What do you mean exactly--blew up in your face?” That doesn’t sound good.

“Well, first Maul quit, which was a terrible loss. He was a brilliant man who might have balanced the Force—“

“Maul could balance the Force?” Say what??

“Oh, yes. He was far more Nightbrother than Sith. He had a witch’s natural ability with the Force. For years, I thought he might be the Chosen One until your Grandfather came along.”

“Oh.” Who knew?

“But we ruined Maul with Sith training too soon and then he was injured by Kenobi. His body recovered but his soul never did. Your Grandfather was similarly disheartened when I finally met him.” Creepy old Plagueis shakes his head. “Sheev ruins everything and everyone he touches. I will never forgive him for his treatment of my Anakin.” 

The veteran Sith Master steels his resolve as he meets his eyes. “I won’t let Sheev win. It’s why I brought you back. You could still fulfill the promise of your Grandfather and make certain he did not die in vain. The girl . . . well, that girl reminds me entirely too much of your uncle. I would much rather you were the one to live at Exogol,” Plagueis complains. “She has to the power to do it, but not the wisdom, I fear. But you, Kylo Ren, have the power and the wisdom.”

To do what? “Get to the point. What do you really want? Besides revenge on Sidious.”

“Do you not want that as well?”

He rephrases the question. “Why did you resurrect me?”

“To balance the Force. You can do it. The girl will help.”

Balance the Force? That’s a Jedi fairytale. Moreover, it’s an impossible task. Flustered Kylo reflexively lashes out, “Do it yourself.”

“Alas, I cannot. But you, my boy, might.” He looks away, but the scary faced Muun commands his attention. “All your life, someone has found fault with you. You mother feared your potential and sent you away too young. Your uncle later tried to kill you for your Darkness that matched his own. Then Snoke ridiculed you for your Light. They couldn’t see what I have seen all along—that you’re the hero, not the villain. That your inner conflict is not a shameful secret but a virtue. It will enable you to finish what Lord Vader started and we all will benefit.”

Uncomfortable with these home truths and unexpected praise, Kylo takes refuge in sarcasm. “So now you’re my cheerleading savior? My Darth fairy godmother?”

“You may call me Master.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You may call me Grandfather.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I will send you back to the Force and see if I can coax the girl Rey to do it on her own.” With that threat delivered quietly, Snoke raises his eyebrows. “Well? Are you with me?”

“No one can balance the Force,” he sneers back. “Even the fucking Jedi doubted that Chosen One crap.”

His host grunts. Displeasure is written across his disfigured features. Like Kylo has just blasphemed. “You are as blunt and rude as Lord Vader was, but Vader was never profane. The man was elegant in his disdain, whereas you are crude.” Plagueis grumbles, “I suppose that’s Sheev’s influence showing. He is a lowly, petty man with a taste for colorful language and Underworld women. Kylo Ren, tell me that you are better than what you appear here today.”

“Until minutes ago, I was dead,” Kylo snaps back. “So forgive me if I’m not my best self. And you’re not the first Sith Lord to want something from me.”

“Very well.” The ugly Muun switches gears. “Let’s get you patched up, shall we? I have excellent medical care here. As you can see,” he gestures to his deformities, “I require some help myself.”

The man who looks like Snoke but claims to be Plagueis now turns and lumbers towards the doorway. 

“Wait—I have questions,” Kylo calls after him.

“I have answers. But first, let’s get you more comfortable.” Plagueis activates the door and reveals a slight graying human man in a plain black uniform. “Fetch Vanee with the droid, please. Our guest requires medical attention.”

The older man steps forward into the room to peer across at him. “Master, you did it!” the man breathes out with obvious relief. “You actually did it!”

“Was there any doubt?” old Plagueis smirks. But then, his ruined face breaks into a proud grin. Clearly, he’s pleased by his feat of Force.

The servant is less impressed. He frowns. “Are you sure it’s him? He doesn’t look anything like the rest of them . . .”

Kylo bristles under the blatant scrutiny. It doesn’t help matters that he’s naked, barely covered, and sprawled on the sofa. 

“I always thought he would be handsome under that helmet.”

“It’s him,” Plagueis confirms. 

“Well, let’s hope he’s all you think he is,” the older man worries aloud. “We’ve been disappointed before.”

“He will be,” Plagueis says emphatically. “But first, he needs to heal and to rest.”

“Yes, Master. We will see to it.” The old man now disappears at a surprisingly spry pace for his advanced years.

Kylo shoots his host a look once the servant departs. “Whatever you think you have planned, it won’t work. Rey won’t go for this. She’ll never join you.”

“Us. She’s joining us,” Plagueis corrects him mildly.

“Whatever. She won’t go for it.”

His host is unconcerned. “Don't be too sure,” he chides coyly. “If this were sabacc, I’d say I have an ace up my sleeve.”

“Yeah? What?”

“You.”


	3. chapter 3

She sits in the sand, knees propped up and head leaning back against the side of the old Imperial AT-AT walker she once claimed squatter’s rights to. This an impromptu visit. Troubled Rey is basking in the comfort of the familiar. And, yes, maybe she’s hiding a little. 

It’s twilight, her favorite time of day. For a few fleeting minutes as the sun fades, the desert cools down to become hospitable before it lapses into cold darkness. It is a time of transition before predictable change. For as certain as Jakku’s nightfall comes, you can count on a blazing daybreak to follow. This isn’t Hosnia, after all. No one will bother destroying this junkyard wasteland. 

Once, all she wanted was to get back to Jakku. Then, she couldn’t flee far enough from her old scavenger life. But here she is back where she started, ironically yearning for hard times that were somehow simpler. 

This reverie helps. Amid all the tumultuous upheaval in the galaxy at large, this solitary homecoming balms her soul. For better or for worse, Jakku centers her. She needs this reminder of who she is and where she comes from. For she is still reeling from the loss of her only true mentor General Leia and also mourning the death of the mysteriously appealing Ben Solo. Rey is also still very much conflicted about her role in the New Republic. Already, the messages from Finn and Poe have piled up on her comlink. They want things from her that she’s not sure she can give.

She fears becoming the next Leia Organa figure whose hero credibility will be destroyed when she is revealed to be the scion of a notorious Sith Lord someday in the future. And is Palpatine really her grandfather? Or is this Darth Plagueis guy her quasi-father? Does it even matter? She wonders now at her naiveté in holding out hope for a reunion with her parents. She foolishly thought that finding her family would answer the riddle of who she is. But if anything, more knowledge has deepened the mystery. She has more questions now than before. Never in her wildest dreams did she expect the truth to be this complicated and disappointing. 

It’s all distressingly disappointing, actually. Luke Skywalker turned out to be a grumpy, depressed man who attempted to murder his nephew. He wasn’t the only one to abandon the Jedi way, for even stalwart Leia Organa had quit her own training long ago, fearing for her own Dark future. Then the Skywalker heir Ben Solo turned out to be less a man looking for a second chance than he was a man looking for a new beginning. Things veered off script in Snoke’s throne room when she offered Ben redemption and he refused. But in the end, Ben Solo was a whole lot less threatening than Emperor Palpatine, whose improbable survival was only slightly more astounding than his pervasive Final Order deep state embedded within the First Order at the highest levels. 

No one has turned out to be who she expected. Does that make her the galaxy’s worst judge of character? Or does that speak to the treacherous duplicity of Darkness? More and more, Darkness seems to be her destiny. It’s within her, Rey fears, and without her as well. Stalking her in the form of disillusionment and frustration. Eating away at her confidence with self-doubt and fear of failure. It lies in wait somewhere in the guise of the still-alive Darth Sidious. It tempts her in the form of a seven-foot mangled Muun who looks like Snoke but claims otherwise. That Darth Plagueis is very cunning, she has to admit. It was easy to reject Darth Sidious’ offer of unlimited power. But love is something far harder to walk away from.

Just like she had foreseen when they touched hands in the Force, Ben Solo did stand with her on Exogol. Or was she standing with him like he predicted? Perhaps they were both right. And maybe it doesn’t matter because she’s far from certain about Ben’s true motivations. She worries Exogol was an alliance of convenience. One of those enemy-of-your-enemy-is-your-friend battlefield truces and not a moment of true solidarity. Except when it was over, Ben healed her and killed himself in the process. That anyone would do that for her, let alone her supposed enemy, touches her deeply. And it begs the question—if Ben would give all to save her, shouldn’t she return the favor and strike a deal with this Darth Plagueis to resurrect him? 

That dilemma leaves her torn between her selfish desires and the good of the galaxy. She’s worried too that whoever this Plagueis guy is, his help will have a terrible price. That if she accepts his offer, she will be yet another name on a long list of well-intentioned young people who bargained away their souls to Dark Lords for illusory promises. 

And so glumly she sits in the sand and mulls things over. Try as she might, Rey can’t see how she would do anything differently if she could relive the last year over again. She owns each choice she made based on what she knew at the time. And yet, all that decisiveness seems to have deserted her now. For suddenly, she is paralyzed by indecision.

“Brooding?”

Rey knows that voice. She looks up to find the Force apparition of the man who looks like Snoke. He’s back, like she knew he would be. Rey doesn’t bother drawing her sword this time. It won’t help. But she does stand to her feet. She feels at an awkward disadvantage with him looming over her.

“How do you do this?” she demands hotly. “Master Skywalker killed himself with a Force projection.”

“I’ve had a lot more practice,” the ghostly man assures her.

She pops her hip out, thrusts out her jaw, and stares him down with aggressive posturing she learned young to survive. Here on Jakku, the best defense is a good offense. So she has long been quick to brandish a weapon or—like in this case—start demanding answers. “Where are you currently? I know you’re not here.”

He names a system she doesn’t recognize. 

“Where is Zakuul?” She struggles with the pronunciation of the unfamiliar word.

“It’s in what most call the Unknown Regions.”

“Oh. Right.” That probably figures. What better place to hide? “So why do you look like Snoke if you’re not Snoke?” Frankly, she’s still not entirely certain this guy isn’t Snoke. The near perfect resemblance is disconcerting. Rey is suspicious by nature, and this man makes her especially wary.

“Snoke was a puppet meant to fool you. He was a clone of me who my former Apprentice Sidious animated with the Force. It was meant to confuse you and the rest of the galaxy were I ever to return.”

His words have the ring of truth, but she refuses to acknowledge it. “I don’t understand.”

“You were gaslighted, as was Kylo Ren and much of the First Order. They believed in their figurehead Supreme Leader who Sidious controlled from afar on Exogol.”

“And where were you all this time?”

“Here on Zakuul mostly. Biding my time in exile for this moment. Letting the Force do its work. Tell me, have you considered my offer?”

Yes, she can’t stop considering it. That’s the problem. Everything about this man with his incredible claims and magical powers has her scared.

“Well?”

“I decline.” She’s not sure yet if that’s her final answer, or just an initial refusal to stall. But either way, it’s the only answer she’s comfortable giving just now. 

Does he plan to talk her out of it? Apparently, not. Darth Plagueis remains silent, his expression disappointed and disapproving. It makes her want to squirm. Involuntarily, Rey’s eyes find the sand at her feet.

Well, whatever. She shrugs it off. Rey settles back down now, making a show of how relaxed she feels. It’s more posturing. For in truth, her heart is racing and she feels herself begin to sweat.

Maybe if she ignores Plagueis, he will go away? Not likely, she guesses. That never worked with the Force bond. She’d start out determined to ignore Ben and then they would be drawn into an argument anyway. Well, not always. But usually. And that memory makes her glum anew. Back then, she had been so certain that Luke Skywalker had all the answers but he was withholding them. Whereas when Ben wanted to tell her things—important things—she had rejected them outright. She hadn’t trusted Ben. Now, she worries, she should have.

It’s just like she doesn’t trust this newest Force troll she’s picked up. Because this is what Dark Siders do. They make promises they cannot fulfill and convince you of their lies. They lure you into compromising your values and manipulate you with your fears. Before you know it, you’re on one knee calling them Master and you’re stuck being the Apprentice until you can kill them. Well . . . all except for one Dark Sider who refused to end the war but then gave his life for hers. He died with her kiss still warm on his lips, she recalls sadly.

Pushing aside that loss, Rey recalls her thoughts to the present. She continues pointedly ignoring her visitor. 

Plagueis, in turn, stubbornly refuses to leave. He just stands there, watching her. Like he knows what she’s thinking.

Silence is a very effective bargaining tool. Rey used it to her advantage many times in Jakku’s barter economy. She uses it now with much determination. Darth Plagueis is definitely getting the silent treatment. But just in case he really is reading her mind, she thinks ‘ _Go away_!’ over and over again. Maybe he’ll take the hint.

He doesn’t. Finally, the man speaks. It’s not a sales pitch or a harsh condemnation. It’s casual and offhand. “Jakku,” he grunts, walking a bit to survey the battle wreckage she once called home. “Interesting choice.” It’s a low-key diss mixed with sympathy, which makes it worse.

Rey bristles. “This is my home,” she replies despite her intentions to the contrary.

“This was never your home. It was a hiding spot. An effective one, if an inhospitable choice. How you suffered here . . . ” Looking down from his great height, Plagueis pokes right at the crux of her visit, asking, “Why haven’t you returned to the Resistance?”

“They don’t need me.” She’s been telling herself this enough to start believing it. 

The Snoke lookalike is not fooled. “Afraid to face them?”

“No.” Yes. 

“Afraid to tell them the truth of who you really are?”

Rey lifts her chin as she informs him, “My heritage matters less than my choices.” She’s indignant at the idea that her genetics determines her future. It flies in the face of her beliefs about personal moral responsibility. 

“Nonsense. Daughter, your heritage is what bestowed you with the Force. There would be no choices but for your heritage. You would be like everyone else.”

“That would be fine.” The words come out biting. She looks away.

“Ah, I see,” her new nemesis decides. “Still longing to fit in?”

“I’ll never fit in,” she sighs.

And rather than argue with her, Darth Plagueis agrees. “It is good that you realize that,” he nods his approval. “The Force is a great gift, but it is also a heavy burden. People don’t realize how heavy is the mantle of heroism.”

“I never asked for any of this.” Once, she longed for belonging and excitement to fill her lonely, bored soul. But Rey got way more than she bargained for. That’s why she came back here today. Her struggles on Jakku were problems with finite answers . . . unlike galactic politics and the future of the Force.

“Well, you won’t get sympathy from me,” the towering stranger chides lightly. Then he smiles and amends, “But you will get understanding.” She looks away in annoyance at his suddenly teasing tone. But he persists, talking in that slow, unfolding manner of his that lulls her into listening. 

“Life is not fair—you know that. The Force is not fair either. It chooses champions and abruptly discards them. History is replete with Force users who struggled mightily and failed. Take a lesson there, Rey. If you wish to remain in the game long-term, your cause must not be politics or self-interest. Your aim is to be an instrument of the will of the Force. That may put you in conflict with others. They may see you as fickle or ambitious. They will long for ideology and consistency. For easy answers and bright line rules. The Force is none of those things, I’m afraid.”

“So you’re telling me there are no answers?”

“Mostly, there are questions.”

“I reject that.”

“Everyone wants to reject that. It’s what flummoxed you when you met Skywalker. You wanted him to explain everything and he couldn’t.”

“He left an awful lot out.” Rey glares at no one in particular, still plenty resentful at her treatment by the last Jedi. 

Her visitor chuckles a little at her sarcasm. It’s a decidedly non-Snoke sound. “Come now,” he cajoles, “does that surprise you?”

“No. But it disappoints me,” she admits. And then, inexplicably, tears flood her vision. She blinks them back fast, fearing to appear vulnerable.

Darth Plagueis—or whoever he really he is—says nothing. But when she has fully regained her composure, he asks, “What has brought you back here?”

“I told you,” she growls, “this is my home.”

The old Sith frowns. “Tell me you aren’t exiling yourself. There’s been enough of that for the past few decades. And I hate to think of you being alone, Daughter. Haven’t you been alone long enough?”

“I am not alone.” And don’t call me daughter, Rey seethes inwardly. It’s even worse than ‘Apprentice.’

“You are alone, are you not?” The Sith Master gestures to their empty surroundings. “You have always been alone, craving belonging. And now that you are offered it, you resist. Why? Why haven’t you returned to the Resistance?”

“It just feels wrong,” she confesses, knowing she’s allowing herself to be drawn into a conversation despite her resolve to keep silent.

“Yessss,” Plagueis nods his encouragement, “search your feelings. Why does the Resistance feel wrong?”

“Because my friends . . . ” She falters. 

“Yes?”

“They mean well—they really do. But they are attempting something that has failed twice already. It’s like they don’t learn from the past . . . or maybe they don’t want to learn . . . but I’m not certain why they think it will be any different this time since Sidious is still around . . . ” She feels like a pessimist for questioning their goals. But as Finn and Poe’s plans take shape, they fill her with misgivings. It doesn’t help matters that no one believes her that the Emperor survived. At times, their disbelief almost feels like willful ignorance.

Again, the mysterious stranger chuckles. “Now, you understand how I feel,” he muses with a faint smile. “Rey, I am an old, old man. I have lived long enough to see cycles in the Force. To see the Light eclipsed by Darkness only to see the Light dawn anew. For eons now, that has been the way of things.”

Yes . . . like the coming desert nightfall, Rey thinks to herself. Inevitably it happens, like the sunrise that follows. That cycle is the way of things on Jakku. Perhaps that is the way of things everywhere, thanks to the Force. 

“You can’t win, can you?” she chokes out her worst fear. 

The old Sith looks almost kind as he suggests, “That depends on what you mean by winning.”

“I mean winning—actually winning. Like an end to fighting and war. But you can’t win. Darkness never dies, does it? There will always be a Darth Sidious or some guy like him . . .”

The old Sith Master states it differently. “The Light Side and the Dark Side are eternal, like the Force itself. The Light cannot permanently triumph over its rival. Neither can the Dark. At best, one side achieves a temporary upper hand and there is stasis for a while.”

“Is that what happened on Exogol?”

“Perhaps. We shall see.”

She grumbles, “That’s not very helpful.”

“These things are easier to assess in hindsight,” he answers honestly. “Sometimes the cycle appears to stop, but that’s merely an illusion. It means the two sides of the Force coexist, but one is hidden from the other. That was the circumstance long ago during the early days of the original Republic. The Light did not reign triumphant for thousands of years. The Republic was simply ignorant of its rival Sith Empire hidden on the other side of the galaxy. Those two separate, very powerful civilizations balanced one another. In more recent times, Darkness has ruled with stealth. Even the Jedi Council Members who met with Chancellor Palpatine had no idea that a Sith Lord was ruling the Republic. But that situation was, for a time, a form of balance.”

She now blurts out, “Darth Sidious is alive!”

Plagueis takes the news in stride. “I know. But he’ll be in retreat for a bit.” The giant, gaunt Sith smiles ruefully as he confides in a stage whisper, “That’s why I crawled out of exile. The coast is clear at last.”

Rey doesn’t appreciate his lightness on the topic. This is very, very serious for her. “So now what?” she rages. “He’s alive and I can’t kill him! I tried my best. So if that’s what you want in exchange for Ben Solo, I can’t give it to you! Go find some other sucker to fall for your promises. I’m through believing in happy endings!”

Her sudden outburst fades as quickly as it began. Rey now belatedly worries that she has provoked this unknown Dark Sider. But rather than meet her escalation, the old Sith peers down and mutters softly, “So beleaguered you are . . .”

And now, that humiliating hot rush of tears reoccurs. “I can’t stop him. I tried . . . I really tried . . . ” she moans as she wipes furiously at her eyes.

“I know.”

“You know?” She looks up.

“Yes. Take heart, young Rey. The Force is more than any one man’s—or any one woman’s—desires. Darth Sidious is not all powerful. He can still be stopped.”

“I can’t do it,” she frets. The galaxy needs a new hero. She’s not up to the task.

“With the Force as an ally, all things are possible,” Plagueis schools her. The longer she talks to this guy, the less he seems like Snoke. He’s far too relaxed. And while he has gravitas to spare, he has none of the Supreme Leader’s snarling menace. If anything, this man seems thoughtful. Vaguely condescending too, but in a fatherly way. 

“People like us, we can influence the Force. But the Force also influences us. It obeys our commands, but it also controls our actions,” he continues.

“Are you about to tell me to reach out? To let the Force flow through me?” Rey gripes out more sarcasm.

“No, Apprentice. You don’t require that sort of training. Mostly, I suspect, you need to unlearn what you think you know. It’s not your connection to our reality that you need to let go of. It’s your expectations.”

What is that supposed to mean? “You’re telling me to grow up? Is that it?” she retorts. “Are you urging me to lose my ideals and to compromise?”

“I’m telling you something far more fundamental. That your ideals are only half right and largely misplaced.”

“So the Jedi Order needs to end?” she guesses.

“Daughter,” Darth Plagueis looks her squarely in the eye, “It ended long ago. It’s the old Sith who need to end now. We shall wipe clean the slate of both religions and begin anew. And for that, I need your help. And,” he shoots her a look, “we need Ben Solo back.”

It’s a sore point. “He was there! He tried with me! What makes you think we will win in a rematch with Sidious?”

“This time, you’re going to outflank Sheev by balancing the Force.”

“Oh.” That is not the answer she expected. “Can you really bring Ben back?” she asks in a small voice. Can he see how tempted she is? She hopes not.

“I can bring him back.”

She believes him. But she is wary for being misled. “Will he be good as new?” Or will he be some kind of zombie? Or like Darth Vader in a suit?

“He will awaken with whatever scratches and dents he died with,” Plagueis answers. “But those can be fixed. Modern medicine will heal him.” 

Her eyes narrow as she considers the possibilities this presents. “Who else can you bring back? Can you bring back General Leia? Or Master Luke?”

“No.”

“You’re lying!” she accuses.

“Oh, I could do it,” he assures her. “But I won’t do it. I will not resurrect old leaders with failed ideas who had their chance. We need less of the past.”

“So why bring back Ben Solo?” Rey demands, confused by this logic.

“Because he is the Chosen One disruptor for the times we live in. And because his default setting is Dark, like yours is Light. You complement one another. It’s why you were so astoundingly bonded.”

“Palpatine called it a dyad in the Force,” she recalls aloud. And did that sound wistful? She hopes not. She’s embarrassed now by how much that bond came to mean to her.

“Force bonds are nothing new. The Skywalker twins had a powerful bond. And there have been others through the years. What made yours special—what made it a dyad—is because Light bonded to Dark. Such potential that connection has . . . ” Rey hears very clearly the lust for power behind Darth Plagueis’ words. “Tell me, what did that feel like?”

Awkward and uncomfortable at first. Fraught with tension and mistrust. But also, shockingly intimate and immediate. Rey tries to verbalize it. “I could do more than talk to him . . . at times, I could almost feel what he felt. I could reach out of my reality and into his. I touched his hand once in the Force.”

“What did that feel like in your mind?” Plagueis keeps prodding.

“Everything.” The word slips out before she can suppress it. Embarrassed, she feels her face redden.

“You miss him.” 

“No.” Yes. “Death is the way of things,” she pronounces primly, taking refuge in Jedi dogma she read in Luke’s books. She reverts the conversation back to the bond now. She focuses on the safe topic of its mechanics, rather than its emotions. “Our connection worked with objects as well. He ripped a necklace off me once. Then, on Exogol, I was able to pass him a sword.”

“It’s alright to miss him,” Darth Plagueis continues as if she had said nothing further of the bond. He promises, “I will never fault you for attachment. The Jedi got that all wrong. Attachments make people better, even if they make them vulnerable.”

Rey gulps and looks down. “I wouldn't know.” She’s never really had an attachment. Whatever she had with Ben Solo defied easy categorization. And she’s not certain it was truly mutual. She cared a lot more than he did, she suspects. That’s the only way she can understand his actions in Snoke’s throne room. But that doesn’t explain his selfless actions on Exogol.

“You can lie to me, but don’t lie to yourself.” Plagueis again ignores her disavowing words. “That young man was the buzz in the back of your head that got your heart racing. He was the tickle to your mind that never failed to provoke a reaction. Admit it, my dear. He got under your skin and not just in a bad way.”

Maybe so, but she has more than herself to think of. Rey shakes her head. “The last thing the galaxy needs right now is Supreme Leader Ren back alive.”

“You’re wrong.” For the first time, the Snoke lookalike’s voice is sharp. “He is everything the galaxy needs. Along with you, of course.”

“I won’t be your pawn,” she retorts. 

“I will not compel you. I am giving you a choice. You may choose to do things your way and take the path others before you have trod. To hide in exile from Darth Sidious like Yoda, like Kenobi, and like Skywalker before you. Go ahead—hoard your knowledge in books and in holochrons and train your replacement to keep the old faith alive when you are gone. It will make you part of the problem, Rey, and not the solution.”

“So says the Sith,” she jeers.

“Moreover, it would be a terrible personal sacrifice,” Plagueis continues unabated. “The Jedi life is an especially lonely vocation. They had to train them young because few reasoning adults would sign up for that harsh repression.”

“It would be a life of peace and purpose,” she objects, feeling obligated to stick up for the Jedi tradition. 

“It would be a waste!” Plagueis declares. “Sacrifices always mean more to those who make them than to those who benefit from them. Remember that.”

Rey pauses. She’s bristling still, but feeling less certain.

Plagueis sees it, too. “I sense great fear in you,” the old Dark Master observes. “I’m sure Skywalker saw it as well. It may be why he refused to train you. He saw too much of himself in you . . . and too much of his nephew. The old Jedi Order would never have touched you, Daughter. They would have deemed you too great a risk. They would have let your power remain untrained and squandered your potential. But I see your inner conflict as your best asset. You are Dark and Light, just like the Force. That is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I don’t want to be Dark,” she frets, remembering that nightmarish version of herself in the vision on Endor. She’s especially rattled now. Rey glares as she rejects him. “I will not be your Apprentice!”

“My dear, here’s a little secret you should know: those who are strongest in the Force are always the most tempted. It’s why the most prominent Jedi were the ones to fall corrupted. And why the Darkest of the old Sith could have stunning moments of compassion and kindness. Those lapses were not character flaws or anomalies—they were the consequence of great power. Those moments were the pull to the center—the Force pushing them to balance. So it was with our forebears, and so it shall be with you eventually. Mark my words, Rey of Jakku, child of the Force, you will never walk wholly in the Light . . . nor should you, lest you follow Skywalker’s example.”

She gulps. “That’s why Luke did what he did—that was the Dark Side in him?"

“Yes. The impulse to murder he claimed was preemptive justice that would spare lives in the end. Such a self-delusion that lie was,” Darth Plagueis purrs out his condemnation. “Skywalker saw what his nephew would become and he feared it . . . almost as much as he secretly envied it. Young Ben Solo threatened everything about his uncle—from his preeminent status, to his Force power, to his cherished Jedi Order, to his beloved New Republic. The boy he groomed as a successor was going to eclipse him in every way and tear down his legacy. Skywalker couldn’t stand it! The Dark Side in him reared its head before he could stop it. For the longer you repress those urges, the stronger they assert themselves. It all had terrible consequences for the galaxy.”

“It drove Ben to Snoke.”

“Yes. Luke Skywalker’s folly sent the last of the Skywalkers straight into Darth Sidious’ clutches. And then, that pious Jedi drew all the wrong lessons from it. He determined himself so fundamentally flawed by his impulses that he cut himself off from the Force.” Darth Plagueis waves a spindly finger before her nose now, warning, “Do not fear who you are, Rey, or you will suffer for it as well. The ramifications could be equally as devastating in time.”

She nods warily, recalling Luke’s wise words. “Confronting fear is the destiny of a Jedi.”

“No!” Plagueis takes strong objection to that advice. And here, finally, is true menace worthy of Snoke on his throne. “I don’t want you to confront fear, I want you to embrace it! To accept it, along with the rest of the Dark emotions that the Jedi forbid. You must unlearn all those limitations, Daughter, if you are to balance the Force.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but the old Sith Master overrides her. “The Jedi are gone. Let their mistakes fade into the past. Learn from them and move on.” He shoots her a pointed look. “Isn’t that what you fault your overly optimistic friends in the Resistance for not doing?”

Flustered Rey has nothing to say in response.

The stern Sith’s demeanor relaxes. His next words are conciliatory. “Daughter, I want you to come home. This,” he gestures with derision to her old AT-AT, “is not your home . . . not any longer.” She starts to object, but Darth Plagueis raises a hand to forestall her. “Take all the time you need. When you are ready, find me on Zakuul. The system is not on any map. You must find trust the Force to guide you. Jump from the western edge of the galaxy with full shields up.”

“But the Unknown Regions are full of black holes and—”

“Trust the Force to guide you. When you arrive safely, it will be proof that the Force is with you . . . and with us.”

Rey again refuses. “I don’t want this. I’m not your daughter. And I told you—I won’t be your Apprentice!”

“You need a teacher so very badly. No--don’t deny it. You know it to be true. You also need a home very badly. You need someone to care for you. I can provide that as well.”

She reflexively recoils. “I don’t want anything from you!”

“Come now, we both know better. When you arrive, I will give Ben Solo back to you. The miracle of his resurrection will be further proof that we do the work of the Force. If we three work together, I know that we can discover the secret to balance. One day soon, Light and Dark will be allies rather than foes.”

She crosses her arms and shakes her head. “I’m not coming.”

“Bring the books with you.”

“What books?”

“Skywalker’s Jedi books.” 

“You know about those?”

“Of course.”

She lifts her chin. “I’m still not coming.”

“Take all the time you need,” Plagueis repeats his offer. But this time, he doesn’t dangle the inducement of a resurrection. He employs a threat. And now again, she gets a glimpse of the steely mastermind Sith Master who Darth Sidious pretended to be. Is it her imagination? Or do his eyes flash yellow as announces, “You should know that in this case the old Sith maxim is true: if you are not with me, you are my enemy. Please Rey, do not set yourself up in opposition to balance. Do not seek to rebuild the Jedi Order. I will not let you succeed.”

As she processes that warning, the mysterious stranger disappears. 


	4. chapter 4

“It became something of a tradition after that. Each time Lord Sidious sent assassins after Lord Vader, your grandfather would haul the bodies back to Coruscant and dump them on his Master’s desk. Missing heads, limbs, and all.” Vanee, Lord Plagueis’ longtime servant, grins ghoulishly at the memory. “He never missed a chance to display his handiwork to his Master.”

Lord Plagueis’ other longtime servant, the dour Milo volunteers, “Lord Sidious hated that. He complained vociferously to Lord Vader—“

“Who told him that if he didn’t want dead men in his office, he should refrain from sending death squads,” Vanee finishes with twinkling eyes. “More caf, my lord?”

“No, thanks,” Kylo declines for the third time. Any more caf and he’ll be wired like he took a stim shot. That would be fine if he were at work ruling the First Order. But here, there’s nothing to do all day except listen to Lord Plagueis’ Sith acolyte servants tell war stories of bygone days. It’s how he passes the time while he recuperates and plots his next move.

The big yeet on Exogol has left him with an ankle fractured in two places, some broken ribs, and a very bruised right shoulder. All the miscellaneous scrapes and scratches healed quickly thanks to a dip in a bacta tank. But the bones will take a full two weeks to heal. That has him killing time hanging out at Darth Plagueis’ fancy villa.

His host only appears for about an hour a day. Darth Plagueis the Wise is ‘working,’ Kylo is told. Whatever that means. So the rest of the time, Kylo doomscrolls the holonet watching the newsfeed coverage of the crumbling First Order. When that puts him in too sour a mood, he hangs out with Milo and Vanee who pretty much bicker all day over endless cups of caf.

Vanee is the personable one who likes to gossip. He was Lord Vader’s steward at Mustafar Castle. The much more circumspect Milo served Lord Sidious at the Imperial Palace on Coruscant. Both men were highly placed spies of Lord Plagueis for the duration of the Empire years. Plagueis may have been in exile since the junior Senator from Naboo rigged his own election as Old Republic Chancellor, but Plagueis is far from out of the action. If half of what Vanee claims is true, then Darth Plagueis has had a direct or indirect role in every major political crisis since the Separatists seceded from the Republic. The guy is an inveterate schemer, which makes Kylo admire him as much as he distrusts him. But for now, Plagueis is his benefactor and his host, so Kylo plays along. And that means endless afternoons like this one spent lounging around listening to two old men talk about people who died before he was born.

Plagueis’ two attendants seem to live almost entirely in the past in the glory days of the waning Old Republic when the Sith were very much ascendant. Vanee even looks like a Sith. He wears dramatic formal black robes complete with ecclesiastical whimple. The outfit conceals all but his leonine face with sharp eyes, giving him a certain gravitas at first glance. That all dissipates, however, when you actually talk to the guy. Vanee has a happy-go-lucky, bumbling manner. He smiles and chuckles a lot as he bustles around, which only adds to the incongruous impression.

Vanee’s longtime frenemy foil is Milo. This guy is downright dour, Kylo decides. Milo sits in determined silence while his counterpart prattles on. Then, every so often, Milo will spout off something quiet and thoughtful that’s also usually bleak. As far as Kylo can tell, the guy’s expressions span the gamut from pokerfaced to even more pokerfaced. And, hey, he’s not a smiley sort of fellow himself. When he emotes, it’s usually with a snarl. But at least he shows emotion. This guy is so reserved that he’s downright Jedi. Like Vanee, Milo is ancient. Both men appear in their seventies but if you do the math, each has to be well over a hundred. How these guys survive seems to be a consequence of Plagueis’ Dark magic. Apparently, he likes to keep his cronies around for old times’ sake. Kylo can’t tell if the two men like him or not, and he doesn’t care. He’s not a man used to being liked, especially by underlings.

Plagueis mostly ignores him, which surprises him. Actually, it verges on offending him. He just assumed that he was resurrected with a specific purpose in mind and that his savior Sith would put him to work immediately. Sith Masters are known to be harsh taskmasters. But not this one, it seems. And that makes Kylo increasingly suspicious that his main purpose is as bait. He’s alive as a lure for Rey. Basically, he’s everyone’s tool. For like Darth Sidious, Darth Plagueis seems to be waiting to upgrade to Rey.

Plagueis does make a few cameo appearances each day. Today, he wanders in to hear Vanee speaking of Grand Moff Tarkin. The Sith Master decrees, “The man lacked nuance.” Then, Plagueis wanders off to resume whatever he does in exile. He emerges again hours later to listen in on a lively debate. Vanee and Milo are ranking the best Jedi Masters of the late Republic. Plagueis tells them they’re both wrong and that Dooku was overrated. In fact, he never wanted Dooku on Team Sith in the first place. He preferred Mace Windu but the man would not be swayed from the Jedi Order.

“That reminds me,” Plagueis drawls, “Time to look in on our Jedi girl. Young Rey is quiet in the Force these days. Too quiet for my taste.”

Kylo’s eyes narrow. This is the first he’s heard mention of Rey since he arrived. “Where is she?”

His host shrugs off the question. “It matters not. I can find her anywhere at will. I can never remember names or faces, but I never forget a Force imprint.”

Uh oh. Kylo thinks he knows where this is heading. “She will never agree to join you.” At least, he hopes not.

“Us. Join us,” the old Master corrects him. Then he smiles blithely in Kylo’s direction. “Don’t underestimate me. Besides, I didn’t expect her to give in on the first try. Women who are worth it take some effort. You must charm them or maybe scare them a little. It gives them a thrill, although they never admit it.”

Kylo frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. “We’re still talking about the Force, right?” he says acidly.

Plagueis is coy in his response. “All persuasion requires a bit of seduction.”

Kylo really doesn’t like the sound of that. He leaps to his feet. It’s too fast and his ribs ache and his ankle hurts. But he ignores those pains. “Leave her alone!” he growls.

The Snoke lookalike doesn’t look the least bit threatened. Instead, he appears pleased. “All women want to be chased, Lord Ren. Those who resist the chase usually want to be chased harder.”

What the Hell? “Leave her alone!”

“Jealous? Why, how Dark of you,” old Plagueis smirks. “But never fear, my efforts are for your benefit, Apprentice . . . and for the will of the Force. Wish me luck,” he trills happily as he begins to depart.

“There’s no such thing as luck,” Kylo grumbles as he shoots his host a dirty look. His underlings in the First Order know to fear that look. But here, everyone ignores him.

“Bring her home, Master,” Vanee calls after the boss.

“Yes, yes, in time, in time . . . Now, leave me to my meditation. Projections require great concentration.”

“Don't kill yourself like Luke did,” Kylo jeers. But, on second thought, maybe he hopes the old fossil does expire from the effort.

Old Darth Plagueis stops in his tracks and levels him a pointed look. “I’m no rookiee.” Then, he pulls up the hood of his cloak to settle it low over his features. It gives him maximum Sith gravitas as he sweeps from the room.

Watching Vanee smiles. When Plagueis is gone and Kylo has collapsed back into his seat, the old servant leans forward across the table to confide, “He’s happier now than I can recall for a long, long time. Don’t take this the wrong way, my Lord, but we’re all glad for his sake that you died.”

“Thanks,” Kylo deadpans. Maybe he should be angsty over his own death and resurrection, but he’s not. He takes it in stride and instead frets about the future. Specifically, his future and Rey’s future.

Rey isn’t going to go for any of this, he hopes. There’s nothing to worry about, he tells himself as he sullenly resumes watching the media coverage lauding the triumph of the New Republic. Rey and her friends have won, at least for now. Why should she ally herself with a leftover Sith in exile and the deposed Supreme Leader? Rey got what she wanted all along—a decisive victory that will bring back a version of the Old Republic and its watchdog Jedi Order. So what’s in it for Rey to help balance the Force? The Light is winning just now. Why concede anything to Darkness?

It’s all thanks to Leia Organa’s militant splinter group, the Resistance. That old warmongering Rebel princess was right, the headlines scream. The First Order was everything she warned about and more. For it turned out to be a front for the magical wizard Sith Emperor Sheev Palpatine’s return. But with Darth Sidious now presumably gone and his interim stooge Kylo Ren dead in a last stand to defend his own position as Supreme Leader, the galaxy is free again. The Resistance leadership is hard at work on Coruscant planning free and fair elections with the cooperation of what remains of the New Republic government. Meanwhile, the decimated and largely leaderless remnants of the First Order are fast going the way of the surviving Imperials after Endor. Between the infighting over the absent command structure and the aggression by the enemy, there is chaos on First Order loyalist worlds. It won’t be long before the Resistance wipes them out, Kylo estimates glumly.

The holovids from the Rim are actually pretty hard to watch. These are his people—his military and his civilian followers--being forcibly ‘liberated’ by the Resistance forces led by that traitor stormtrooper who took a lightsaber up the back in the Starkiller woods. Now, Kylo’s never been the squeamish type about death of meaningless nobodies. His personal body count is plenty high, and that’s not counting his battlefield tally. But still . . . these people’s plight gnaws at him. For in many ways, their fate is the same as his. They have been duped, manipulated, and used. Tricked into serving a cause that was a ruse. Snoke and Sidious never wanted to help the Rim. They only wanted power. Those billions of disgruntled deplorables were merely a means to achieve their ends . . . just like he was. None of it sits well with him.

They need a leader. Kylo can’t get the idea out of his head as he obsessively watches the footage. The obvious choice is him, of course.

Except he’s still pretty wounded, without a sword or a ship to his name. Moreover, he’s a soft hostage to an intimidating Sith Master who woke him from the dead but who can most assuredly send him back there again. And if ever Plagueis gets his hands on Rey, that may be just where he ends up. Because if Plagueis can reform their dyad that once reanimated Darth Sidious, Kylo is certain that his host will use that power for himself. Any self-respecting Sith Lord would. All his crap about balancing the Force is just another ruse to gain their trust. Kylo doesn’t believe for one minute that Plagueis has been chilling here in the Unknown Regions for decades without a comeback plan.

He doesn’t like where this is heading. For yet again, the two most powerful young people in the Force—the next gen Jedi and Sith—will be exploited for some leftover Dark Lord’s aims. Well, Kylo’s not falling for it twice. He hopes Rey feels the same way. Here’s hoping she’s basking in her victory and stays far, far away from Darth Plagueis.

His own plan is to keep his head down and mouth shut until he can heal and flee. Where to? He’s not sure. Anywhere but the Resistance where they will put him on trial for Hosnia and half a dozen other war crimes Snoke aka Darth Sidious ordered. Kylo has no intent to be the poster child fall guy for the sins of the First Order. He’s alive and that’s a second chance he never thought the Force would grant him. So, he’ll be damned if he squanders it in service of another Dark Master.

He meant what he told Plagueis. He’s through being the Apprentice. But neither does he want poor Rey to take his place here at Plagueis’ villa. Every chance he gets, he does his best to warn her.

_Rey? Rey? Hear me, Rey . . ._

He stretches his mind out in the Force, hoping to rekindle their bond. He hopes Darth Plagueis isn’t listening in on everything he thinks and says. But that risk isn’t going to stop him.

_Rey? Rey, can you hear me?_

She’s the girl who plucked the saber from the snow and started swinging. The one so powerful that both he and Snoke felt her awakening. But as he fought her that first time, he wasn’t trying to kill her. Part of him wanted to teach her and part of him wanted to be her. And now he knows why—she’s the Imperial heiress, after all. And sure, she’s a violent, abandoned, hurt girl with trust issues galore. She was cast off by her one-time hero Luke Skywalker who deemed her too Dark. Then, she played the Jedi anyway by surrendering for her own version of the Death Star throne room confrontation. It didn’t go the way she thought it would. Or the way he thought it would, for that matter. Rey wouldn’t join him and he refused to be the Light Side hero she had been looking for since she set off to find Luke Skywalker. It left them at an impasse. Soon afterwards, Darth Sidious showed up and things got really complicated.

Rey went to Exogol like a lamb to the slaughter, terrifyingly committed to the belief that the Light would triumph. Stubborn as always, she refused his help. But he showed up anyway since he wanted a role in the proceedings and he had his own revenge in mind. In the end, the old Emperor faked his death again and Rey succumbed from her efforts. For some inexplicable reason, he survived. But seeing Rey’s lifeless body moved him in a way he still cannot explain. Because really, that sort of Jedi sacrifice had long been her goal. Rey was willing to risk it when she surrendered to Snoke on the Supremacy. And then again when she confronted Palpatine. A glorious heroic martyrdom was what that foolishly idealistic girl had been longing for all along.

She didn’t die for him. She died for the Light. For the galaxy. For the Jedi. For a set of ideals and values he doesn’t share.

But still, in the moment her mortal sacrifice felt like a gift. And holding her body, all he could think of was what he had seen in her memories when he read her mind. This girl was a fighter who scraped and clawed her way to survival in the desert. She did it in vain hope of meeting her parents. Instead she met her grandfather who wanted to steal her power. It was a terrible betrayal of a girl who had suffered too much already.

He too has suffered and been betrayed. First by his murderous uncle and then by his phantom master Snoke. And so, Rey’s fate awoke a great empathy in him. For as usual, despite his many differences with Rey, all he could see were their parallels. She might be fine with how things turned out, but he wasn’t. And that’s why he impulsively healed her with the last of his strength, mimicking the skill she demonstrated on Endor. He figured that she ought to be the one to live. He’d only fuck it all up again anyway. He always fucks things up. That’s the Skywalker way.

_Rey . . . Rey, hear me . . ._

He tries again. Doing his best to channel all the ache in his broken leg into Force power.

_Don't come. Don’t listen to Plagueis. It’s a trap. Sidious is alive. Do you know that? I swear he’s alive. Don’t believe he’s dead. He has died before. Rey? Rey? Please hear me. Stay away and be safe._

But he fails to make a connection. He’s disappointed but undeterred. He will bide his time to try again. Pretending to listen to the aimless, if entertaining, chatter of Plagueis’ elderly servants. Playacting being a docile, convalescent houseguest whenever the resident Sith wanders in.

Which he does now. Kylo learns that Darth Plagueis has purchased a new painting and he’s sending Vanee to Coruscant next week to collect it. Kylo dutifully admires the image of the painting that its proud new owner shows off. Art is not his thing, and this work is way too abstract for him to wrap his head around. But apparently, his host has been waiting decades for this particular piece to come onto the market and he had to outbid several museums and pay an outrageous premium to win. I play the long game in everything, Darth Plagueis brags with irritating smugness. Kylo keeps it to himself, but he thinks anyone foolish enough to pay seventy-four million credits for anything that shade of orange is just asking to get swindled. And what’s the point of living so large out here in the middle of wild space?

Talking of art segues into talk of someone they all know named Astral who lives on Coruscant. Kylo is only half attending the conversation when suddenly he senses a familiar presence in the Force. “Rey . . .” He’s so surprised that he says her name aloud.

Old Plagueis, who is lounging across the room, grunts and looks up. “What is it?”

“Rey . . .” He looks to Plagueis and admits what everyone is about to find out. “She’s coming.” She’s near and getting nearer fast.

“You sense her?” The creepy Muun frowns. He looks perturbed. “Strange that I do not.”

“I was bonded to her. The bond is gone, but the recognition remains.” That’s Rey. He’d know that mind anywhere in the Force. And, oh, it feels good to sense her again.

The old Sith closes his eyes and concentrates a moment before he agrees, “Uhm . . . yessss. She is coming. Feel that Light like a beacon to your mind. Like the first streaks of dawn in the night sky.”

Actually, the advent of Rey feels more like a thundering herd of banthas in his brain. She has always been like this—impossible to ignore and thoroughly disruptive to his psyche. “Rey . . .” The name slips out again, for he is filled with a mix of anticipation and dread. Whatever trap Plagueis has set, it worked. And now, things are much worse. Kylo has to fight the reflex to panic. For who knows what’s coming next? Did they both escape the Apprentice Darth Sidious only to fall prey to his Master, Darth Plagueis?

“Should we leave?” It’s Vanee addressing his boss.

“Why?” nervous Kylo whirls to demand.

The longtime servant is frank. “If she’s going to dash in here, find you alive, and throw herself into your arms for a kiss, we should leave. No need to spoil such a nice moment.” Vanee is at least pretending to expect some sort of happy reunion.

But whatever Rey does, it won’t be that. Kylo shakes his head. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Will she cry? I always cry at happy endings,” silly Vanee gushes some more.

Kylo shoots him a quelling look. “You’ve got this all wrong.” How his grandfather managed to tolerate this old fool for years is beyond Kylo’s comprehension. He himself is tempted to Vader-choke the guy at least twice daily.

“Come on, Milo,” Vanee tugs firmly at his colleague’s sleeve. “Let’s give the family a moment alone. If three’s a crowd, five is far too many.”

“Rey’s more likely to light her sword than she is to kiss me,” Kylo sighs.

“Oh, dear. Swords?” Vanee gulps.

“Do be careful of the artwork,” stern Milo warns.

“Yes, indeed. No one dies today, most especially my art.” That’s Plagueis chiming in. The old Sith Master has moved to the window to watch for Rey’s approaching ship.

“Lord Ren, we just patched you up. You are in no shape for a fight,” Vanee frets.

“Neither was Vader in all those assassin stories you told me,” he replies, feeling a little dissed that he’s considered a lightweight.

Again, Plagueis weighs in. “No one is fighting in my house.”

Goofy Vanee looks positively crushed at the possibility, his romantic notions clearly dashed. “I thought this would be a happy moment . . .”

“First thing she’s going do when she storms in is light her sword,” Kylo predicts. “Violence is her thing.” Rey shoots first and swings first. And, all in all, he likes that about her.

“But she’s the Light, right?” Vanee objects weakly.

“The angry Light. The first time I met her, she pumped blaster rounds right at me. She gave me this scar,” Kylo points to this face. “She is a very violent woman.”

Crusty Milo is nonplussed. “These are violent times. And we are the Sith. We can handle it.”

“Indeed. She’s perfect for you, Apprentice,” Darth Plagueis remarks. The sound of approaching ion engines passes overhead and Kylo limps over to join his host at the window to look out. “Here she comes,” the old Sith points high in the sky. And sure enough, there’s the Millennium Falcon descending to land.

“I will go attend to things in the infirmary,” Vanee announces to no one in particular.

“Coward,” his colleague Milo jeers. “I’m staying. I want to meet this formidable young woman,” he declares.

“Oh, alright,” his grandfather’s old retainer reluctantly gives in. “I guess I’ll stay too.”

Kylo limps back over to collapse in his chair so he can get off his broken leg. Vanee and Milo hover at the far doorway looking like they expect to be dismissed by their Master at any moment. Darth Plagueis turns from the window but keeps his place of towering command over the room. He looks especially pleased, Kylo judges. It makes him even more worried.

Soon enough, into the room dashes Rey of Jakku, the one-time scavenger fugitive Jedi wannabe and more lately Palpatine’s granddaughter. She looks like she’s heading to trade scrap at the Nima Outpost, with her staff in one hand and a loaded knapsack thrown over the other shoulder. Rey wears her worn Resistance jacket over her desert rags and her boots have seen better days. She appears very out of place in the sophisticated, ultra-luxe surroundings she storms into with all the subtlety of a star destroyer coming out of hyperspace.

“Oh, good, I’ve been hoping you would turn up. Come in, come in.” Darth Plagueis is so pleased, he’s downright jolly.  
Rey stomps right past their host. She only has eyes for him as she stops short in her tracks to peer from across the room. “Ben!” She says his name—his real name—and his heart skips a beat like always. “Ben, you’re alive!” she gapes.  
He gapes back. “R-Rey.” She’s more handsome than pretty, with a square face offset by slashing brows. And that’s fitting, for there is nothing delicate and traditionally feminine about this girl. Life has made her tough, but he admires that grit. Force, she is a sight for sore eyes.

She must feel likewise. Her elation shows on her face and bleeds out into the Force. For as always, this girl maintains few mental shields. She has no guile. She’s too direct.

“You’re hurt,” she worries, eyes taking in his orthopedic boot and his arm in a sling.

“It’s nothing.” You were worth it, he thinks to himself.

How does he play this? What does he do? As they both stare transfixed, every other eye in the room darts between them. Evidently, the drama of their past is well known.

Plagueis steps in to take credit. “As promised, here is he is. Alive and well.”

“You kept your promise,” Rey sounds shocked.

Instantly, Kylo is wary. “What did you agree to?” he hisses.

She disavows a deal. “Nothing. I agreed to nothing.”

“Precisely right,” smooth Darth Plagueis inserts himself again. “This isn’t a business arrangement, this is a homecoming. At long last, my daughter is delivered to me. Let us welcome her to the family, Lord Ren.”

Wait—whaaat?? “Daughter??” Kylo chokes out.

“Lord Ren?” Rey whispers back.

“Yes. You, Lord Ren, are my great grandson and Lady Rey here is my daughter. She’s a Skywalker of a sort. A child of the Force. Don’t believe what Sidious told you about her being his granddaughter. That’s rubbish! I made her like I made your grandfather.”

“We’re related?” Rey asks weakly. “Ben, you're his kin as well?”

“Well, naturally,” Plagueis answers for him. “I created the Skywalker line long ago. I think that makes you cousins of some kind, or maybe you’re some sort of aunt. I’m not sure.”

“Oh.” Rey looks as crestfallen as he feels at this bizarre news. “That’s . . . uh . . . wonderful,” she puts a brave face on.

But he immediately accuses, “That’s a lie!” He . . . er hopes.

That’s their host’s cue to intone, “Search your feelings,” with maximum glee. “You will know it to be true.” The cretin Plagueis draws out his vowels with relish. He’s loving this little scene.

Well, fuck. Kylo fumes. Shit like this only happens in his family. And what’s worse, usually it’s true. But he sticks to his guns and complains, “Even if what you claim is fact, this isn’t some blood relation.”

“We are a family,” Plagueis proclaims staunchly. “Reunited at long last. My dear,” he practically coos to Rey, “everything you have ever longed for is here. A family, a home, a teacher, and a—“

“Cousin?” Kylo snorts. “Hell no!”

Plagueis shoots him a look. “This is your only warning, Lord Ren. More of that and I will discipline you as my Apprentice.”

Rey looks further dismayed. “You’re Lord Ren now? Kylo Ren? Not Ben?”

Uh . . . How does he answer that?

“He calls you his Apprentice,” she whispers. “Is that true?”

“No!” He’s through being anyone’s Apprentice.

Listening Plagueis misunderstands why she’s asking. “Oh, never mind about that Rule of Two bit. I broke with that decades ago. I haven’t been a proper Sith since before the Clone Wars. Never fear, Daughter, you can be my Apprentice as well.”

Crafty old Plagueis might be an expert manipulator, but in this instance, he has failed to read the room. Rey whirls on him to rage, “I never agreed to be your Apprentice! I never told you to resurrect him! There is no deal!”

“Think of him as a present,” Plagueis improvises.

Kylo blinks. He’s taken aback at Rey’s vehemence. Did he misread her when she first walked in? She seemed so genuinely happy to see him. “You want me dead?”

“No, no,” Plagueis jumps in. “She was still deciding when I left her. She needed time to think it over.”

“You did?” He’s hurt.

“It depends,” she answers, brutally honest as always. “Who are you? Are you Kylo Ren or Ben Solo?” Rey demands.

That’s a big question. Who is he? He’s both of those men and always has been where Rey is concerned. But he knows what she wants to hear him say. She wants the story of Exogol to be Ben Solo redeemed to the Light, standing by her side as a true believer like she is. Fighting for truth, justice, the Old Republic, and the Jedi way. When, in actuality, he was mostly there fighting for revenge and to save his Empire . . . and to save her, of course. She was his other half, his better half, in their dyad in the Force. So Kylo Ren showed up at Exogol seeking to vanquish his enemy Sidious, to keep his position as Supreme Leader, and to save the girl he’s been chasing since Takodana.

Rey’s face is intense as she prompts him. “Well?”

So many people have intentionally misled this girl. Kylo refuses to do so now. And if she rejects him and leaves, maybe that’s for the best. She needs to get out of here anyway. Plagueis is not trustworthy.

So who is he—Ben Solo or Kylo Ren? He looks her in the eye as he answers, “I’m both men.”

Darth Plagueis beams at this equivocation, but his attendants clearly disapprove. Across the room, old Vanee wrings his hands while the curmudgeon Milo face palms in a rare show of reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I write my own Star Wars multiverse, I am ever a slave to SW canon--including the truly regrettable parts, which include basically all of Episode 9. But I'm embracing all of that bad writing. Episode 9 made Rey's character even more unstable than before. But instead of building on her obvious conflict established in TLJ in an effort to give her common ground with conflicted Kylo, the writers made her the traditional good-guy hero who is tempted but chooses wisely. Good triumphs over evil once again--yawn. Because if TFA remade Episode 4, then TROS remade Episode 6. Ugh. Episode 9 gave Rey a harshness that I didn't like when combined with her righteousness. That will be part of her character in this fic as well. Notwithstanding that dying kiss, everything remains unresolved between Kylo and Rey right now. So this won't be one of those happily-ever-after, look-who's-back-from-the-dead, lets-get-married-and-have-babies Fix-it wish fulfillment stories. This is blueenvelopes, so you shouldn't expect a HEA that isn't earned through a lot of drama. So as you read this, assume that everything in Episode 9 happened but nothing was decided. It's all up for grabs now--the galaxy and the Force.


	5. chapter 5

One afternoon on Jakku is not sufficient. Rey ends up spending five days there. But in the end, she climbs back into the _Falcon_ and sends a curt message with more excuses than explanations back to her friends at the Resistance. Then she takes off for the Unknown Regions. She jumps to hyperspace from the westernmost part of the known galaxy with full shields up. 

Why is she doing this? Mostly because leaving things up to the Force is a convenient fatalism that avoids her taking actual responsibility for making a decision. And she’s not agreeing to anything, she’s just doing due diligence. Testing the waters for whether an alliance with Darth Plagueis is really what the Force wants. She knows that she’s being manipulated by her compassion for Ben. But if there is anything the Light should be weak for, it’s forgiveness, she rationalizes. So, hoping for the best, Rey surrenders her future to the Force.

She pretty much assumes that a Sith Lord in exile will live someplace creepy, dark, and prone to random flashes of lightning like Exogol. But Zakuul turns out to be a sunny, temperate world covered by lushly wooded swampland. There are wide areas of tall grass plains that interrupt the predominant forest landscape, but no settlements that she can identify from the air. Rey sets the _Falcon_ down next to the one above-ground structure she can identify. As she descends closer, she discovers it to be a rambling stone villa complex complete with its own landing pad. Her eyes flit uninterested over the picturesque orchard setting. She’s past the point of being impressed by trees. But the mechanic in her is impressed by that vintage chromium-plated cruiser parked on the landing pad. It looks to be Clone Wars era and in mint condition. Is that Darth Plagueis’ personal ride? She wonders.

Enough stalling. She grabs her knapsack with Luke’s books and her new saberstaff weapon and heads down the _Falcon_ ’s ramp. Never one to stand on ceremony and nervous for what lies ahead, Rey marches right into the manor house. Inside, the place is fancy, like she knew it would be. But Rey looks past all that. For as she bursts in and follows her senses to where the life forms are congregated, all she can see is him.

  
  
“Ben!” The word bursts out, revealing all of her surprise. Neither can she contain the smile that accompanies it. For here, seemingly in the flesh, is the man who stood with her, Jedi blue sword in hand, to oppose the old Emperor. 

_He’s alive_!

Her heart skips a beat with excitement. Truthfully, she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t believe Darth Plagueis when he promised he could resurrect Ben. Rey has seen for herself the awesome power of the Force. It heals mortal wounds, like the deep stab wound she gave Ben on Endor. It revived her on Exogol. And so, it didn’t seem a big stretch that in the hands of a fully trained, seasoned Sith Master, the Force could coax back a dead Skywalker. But seeing is believing. And in this moment, Rey fully believes. For behold: anything is possible in the Force. The unnatural Dark art of a Sith resurrection ironically fills her with hope. Suddenly, Rey is very glad she came. 

_He's alive!_

“Rey.” Ben says her name softly. It’s a whisper that carries across the expansive room. 

  
  
“You’re hurt.” He might be alive, but Ben looks awful. He’s sprawled in a chair wearing a loose, light colored tunic and pants that look like medical garments. One leg is in some sort of splint and one arm is in a sling. Otherwise, he’s barefoot. He’s also noticeably paler than his usual white complexion. There are deep shadows under his eyes. Taking it all in, she’s concerned.

“It’s nothing.” That’s the response she would give were their roles reversed. So, Rey nods back. And that’s when she becomes aware that they have an audience. Two old men in black stand by the far door. Darth Plagueis himself stands watching closely from the head of the room, arms crossed before a large old-fashioned hearth.

The towering Sith with the ruined face now attempts to ingratiate himself. “As promised, here is he is. Alive and well.”

“You kept your promise.” The issue was never whether Plagueis could revive Ben, but whether he would do it. And also, at what cost. Rey had come here, bringing the Jedi books he requested, expecting to negotiate. She didn’t anticipate that Plagueis would preemptively bring back Ben in advance. She’s caught off guard, but in a good way.

Her exchange with Plagueis alarms Ben. “What did you agree to?” he hisses. The expression he gives her is full of suspicion that verges on horror.

“Nothing. I agreed to nothing,” Rey answers fast. She showed up here to see what she could get. Mostly, it was to satisfy her curiosity and to appease her nagging conscience.

Ben still looks spooked. Like he fears she has sold her soul in exchange for his. But she was never going to do that. If the price was too steep, she was going to walk away. Figuring that in such instance, she would have done her best and she could make peace with her survivor’s guilt.

“Precisely right,” smooth Darth Plagueis inserts himself. “This isn’t a business arrangement, this is a homecoming. At long last, my daughter is delivered to me. Let us welcome her to the family, Lord Ren.”

_Lord Ren_. Rey’s eyes narrow.

But Ben is the one who reacts first. “Daughter??”

“Lord Ren?” she whispers. Lord Ren as in Darth Ren? Rey looks from Ben to Plagueis and back again.

Explanations are in order. “Yes. You, Lord Ren, are my great grandson and Lady Rey here is my daughter. She’s a Skywalker of a sort. A child of the Force. Don’t believe what Sidious told you about her being his granddaughter. That’s rubbish! I made her like I made your grandfather.” Their host announces this as if conjuring people in the Force were commonplace. Which apparently it is for him. 

“We’re related?” Rey asks weakly. She’s understanding for the first time now that this mysterious leftover Sith Lord is not just claiming credit for her creation, but for the Skywalker family too. The implications are enormous. The Skywalkers have been driving galactic history and politics for generations now. And if they are his progeny . . . well, then Plagueis has been setting things in motion for quite some time.

“Ben, you're his kin as well?”

“Well, naturally,” their host answers for him. “I created the Skywalker line long ago. I think that makes you cousins of some kind, or maybe you’re some sort of aunt. I’m not sure.” He’s fuzzy on the details and doesn’t seem to care.

But she does. “Oh.” Rey processes his bizarre news, uncomfortably aware that she has been having fanciful daydreams about a man who was fundamentally unsuitable as a romantic interest for reasons wholly separate from his Dark Side affiliation. Rey is dismayed. Embarrassed too. “That’s . . . uh . . . wonderful.”

Ben immediately accuses, “That’s a lie!” 

Plagueis is nonplussed. “Search your feelings. You will know it to be true.”

Rey gulps. She understands much better Plagueis’ reaction on Tatooine when she declared herself a Skywalker and not a Palpatine. She was right even if she didn’t know why. Looking back, the whole exchange takes on a new meaning now.

“Even if what you claim is fact, this isn’t some blood relation,” Ben asserts.

“We are a family,” Darth Plagueis proclaims staunchly. “Reunited at long last. My dear, everything you have ever longed for is here.” He begins cooing temptation to her, “A family, a home, a teacher, and a—“

“Cousin?” Ben snorts. “Hell no!”

Plagueis shoots him a sharp look. “This is your only warning, Lord Ren. More of that and I will discipline you as my Apprentice.”

_Lord Ren_. It’s not lost on Rey that Ben is objecting to being called her cousin but not to being given the title of a Dark Lord of the Sith. The realization adds to her dismay. “You’re Lord Ren now? Kylo Ren? Not Ben?” she chokes out. “He calls you his Apprentice,” she whispers. “Is that true?”

“No!”

She looks to Darth Plagueis for confirmation. 

“Oh, never mind about that Rule of Two bit. I broke with that decades ago. I haven’t been a proper Sith since before the Clone Wars,” he assures her. “Never fear, Daughter, you can be my Apprentice as well.”

It’s not what she’s hoping to hear. As her sense of dread deepens, Rey gives vent to her fears. “I never agreed to be your Apprentice! I never told you to resurrect him! There is no deal!” Suddenly, she feels coerced into something she never agreed to. Ben is back, being presented as a fait accompli, and she fears he and Plagueis believe she has signed up to become Darth Rey.

“Think of him as a present,” Plagueis even suggests wryly.

She’s a bit dumbfounded by how this meeting has taken such a quick turn. Across the room, Ben has that super intense expression on his face that reminds her of their conversation in Snoke’s throne room. He had that look in his eye when she refused to join him. When he started yelling at her to let the past die. The Force fairly crackles around them as he now asks a very leading question: “You want me dead?”

And no, that’s not right. She wants him Light. All along, she has wanted him Light.

“No, no,” Plagueis jumps in to fill the silence of her hesitation. He tries to soothe things over. “She was still deciding when I left her. She needed time to think it over--”

“You did?” Ben acts hurt. And that’s confusing because surely he knows that they are enemies if he is Dark. Does she really need to spell this out? She’s Resistance, he’s First Order. She’s going to be a Jedi and he’s standing in a Sith Lord’s living room being called the Apprentice. They are fundamentally opposed to one another and there is a war going on. How is it in any way a surprise that she didn’t leap at the chance to bring him back from the dead? The easier path seemed to be to leave well enough alone. She didn’t want him dead, but she was prepared to accept it.

But all eyes are on her. She needs to say something. So, she does. “It depends . . . Who are you? Are you Kylo Ren or Ben Solo?” It’s an honest question. It also feels like she’s giving him another chance to step up and declare himself reformed.

Ben stalls. Her heart sinks. 

“I’m both men,” comes his reply. But all Rey hears is ‘I’m still Dark.’

It provokes a strong, immediate reaction. “I don’t really know you at all, do I?” Rey chokes out. He keeps disappointing her. And like a fool, she keeps coming back for more. When will she learn? She knows better than to allow herself to be so vulnerable. And with Ben of all people.

He struggles painfully to his feet now. “Rey—"

“Every time I think I understand you, I am wrong,” she half wails. “On the _Supremacy_ , on Exogol—"

“Rey—" he stumbles forward.

“Luke was right! He told your mother that he couldn’t save you . . . he was right! I can’t save you either.” This is the lesson of the confrontations with Snoke and with Darth Sidious—that she cannot redeem him. Ben has to redeem himself. She’s miserable that he is so stubborn in his refusal. But where before on the _Supremacy_ she was sad, this time, she is angry.

“Rey—"

She overrides him, snarling, “Lord Ren! Lord Ren??” Suddenly, she feels as upset as she did when she shot Force lighting on Passana. “Did you just promote yourself to Sith? Or does he get to do that?” she jeers, gesturing to Darth Plagueis. “You keep trading up on Masters, don’t you? Always looking for more power. Are you still Supreme Leader in your mind, or do you prefer Darth?”

“I am through being the Apprentice,” Ben answers.

Yeah, right. Does he think he’s going to outclass Darth Plagueis the Wise who raises the dead? Ben might be able to kill the puppet Snoke, but she doubts he’s up to the task of taking out Plagueis. 

It’s a standoff now as she glares at Ben and he glares back. Did he mislead her? Or did she mislead herself? He’s always intense, but right now he looks very upset. Almost like he’s the one who feels misled. Abruptly, Ben turns and stumbles back to fall into his chair. He’s facing away from her now. She watches in silence as he runs a hand through his wild hair. The hand squeezes to a fist in a silent gesture of barely controlled fury.

Her anger cools as rapidly as it flared. She swallows her emotions and strives for detachment and control. Reaching for Jedi calm to balm the implicit rejection she feels, Rey masters her emotions. She is resigned and composed when she speaks. “Tell me the truth. You’re Darker than ever now, aren’t you?” 

When Ben doesn’t answer, she addresses Darth Plagueis. “This is your theory in action, right? Luke and Leia are gone now and the Light has dimmed. So the Darkness rises in you, him, and Sidious . . . it’s going to offset the Resistance victory, isn’t it?”

“Wrong. He is like you, equally capable of Dark or Light. A microcosm of the conflict implicit in the universe.”

She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen him be Light.”

“Then you’re not looking,” the Sith who works miracles informs her curtly.

She restates her position. “I’ve seen him do things I thought were Light, but they were for his own purposes. I just misunderstood his intentions.” She blames herself. And that humiliation makes her want to flee. “I’m done here,” she mutters gruffly as she re-shoulders her bag of books and glances back to the way she came in.

She’s disappointed, so disappointed. Yes, resurrecting Kylo Ren instead of Ben Solo was always a possibility. But she was so certain in that magical moment when her eyes opened on Exogol that she was looking at the real Ben Solo. He had smiled at her—actually smiled!—and in that moment, anything felt possible. For he was finally the hero she had always known he could be. But she was wrong, it seems. And now, things are even worse than she understood. For Darth Sidious is alive, Ben is still on Team Dark Side, and now he has a new Master in the form of this scary Snoke lookalike whose motives are anyone's guess. Meanwhile Luke and Leia are gone and she's left alone to fend for herself as the champion of the Light. She has no teacher, just a few books and examples to follow. That doesn’t feel like enough. Because if Luke couldn’t succeed on his own, how can she? Rey feels things spiraling down fast. For in the end, Exogol wasn’t even close to a victory. It didn’t solve anything. Her friends in the Resistance need to know that.

Yes, she is most definitely done here. She needs to get back where she belongs. Rey hangs her head down and grumbles, “Goodbye.”

“Run away!” Ben hisses softly at her. “Run away again!” It reminds her of the time he told her he was a monster. 

Plagueis objects. “Nonsense. She just arrived. And here you are, back from the dead. The least she can do is stay a while. Rey, there’s no rush.”

“Let her go.” Ben is almost goading her to leave. He’s all but showing her the door to compound his rejection. 

“Really, you two,” Lord Plagueis harrumphs. “Is this how young people flirt these days?”

Red faced Rey squints over at Ben across the room. She wonders aloud, “Is he even fully alive? Or is he another Force trick like Palpatine did with Snoke?”

“Oh, he’s alive,” Plagueis assures her.

“I’m no puppet,” Ben growls indignantly.

She’s not convinced because Snoke had been so convincing. She cocks her head and looks Ben over again. “He might be a projection . . .” Come to think of it, that would make perfect sense from a duplicitous Sith. Plagueis would love to gain her goodwill by tricking her into thinking Ben is back in the flesh and she owed him her allegiance as a result.

“He’s alive.” Plagueis seems affronted by her doubting his resurrection. “Why would I project him injured if I were trying to fool you?”

For his part, Ben looks irritated by the whole debate. “What do you even care, Rey? You want me dead. You’re always swinging a sword at me—trying to kill me. You stabbed me on the Death Star!”

Yeah . . . that wasn’t her best moment. “I healed you!” she counters defensively.

“There’s another Death Star?” Plagueis asks. He’s intrigued.

“It was an old one . . . the second one . . . it’s in pieces on Endor,” she explains.

“Whew,” their host exhales. “Three were enough. Sheev and his Death Stars . . . He never learns, does he?”

She ignores him to address Ben. Time to apologize before she leaves. She makes it as perfunctory as possible. “That was a mistake on Endor. I shouldn’t have done that. But I healed you—”

“And then you ditched me.”

“You followed anyway!”

“Because you took on Darth Sidious by yourself on a suicide mission—"

“Yeah, well, thanks for your help . . . “ she grumbles. 

Ben sneers back. “Why thank me? You didn’t need me. You don’t need anyone except yourself! Tell me, why did you even come here?”

“She came at my request. She is my guest,” Plagueis shoots Ben a quelling look. “This is her home and she is always welcome here.”

Rey is lost in the confusing dynamics between Master and Apprentice. But she does wants to get one thing straight before she returns to the Resistance: “Are you really alive?” she addresses Ben. 

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

“How?”

Darth Plagueis intervenes to command, “Apprentice, kiss her.”

“What?” she gasps.

“No!” Ben reacts. It’s more rejection, and it stings.

“You heard me. Kiss her. Show her you’re real. You two can reenact your dying moments.”

Ben is very unenthusiastic. “How about we shake hands?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Plagueis pouts.

She glares. “I don’t want to kiss him!”

“I don’t want to kiss her!” Ben retorts.

“Nonsense. Pucker up, Apprentices!” the old Muun crows. When neither of them makes a move, he relents. “Fine, kick her.”

“With pleasure.” Ben actually gets up on his feet and lumbers over.

She retreats. “Hey!”

“I’ll show you I’m real,” Ben growls. “Then, you can leave.”

Enough of this. She ignites her new sword. That stops Ben in his tracks. Just like on Jakku, when you brandish a weapon it gets everyone’s attention fast. 

Except the attention is somewhat deflating. Her sword fails to impress. Ben has the effrontery to squint at her creation. “Yellow? That’s . . . different. Where did you get that crystal?”

“From Maz Kanata.”

“Who?”

“It’s more gold than yellow,” Plagueis appraises slowly. “Could be worse. It could be green.”

“You’re right,” Ben agrees with complete seriousness. “I hate green swords. What is that exactly?” He tilts his head to inspect her creation.

“It’s a staff on one side and a saber on the other. I made it myself.”

“I can see that,” Ben smirks. It makes her long to wipe the sardonic twist off his face with a swing of her new weapon.

Amused Plagueis snorts. “Somewhere Darth Maul is rolling over in his grave.”

“Who’s Maul?” She doesn’t know that name.

“He was half the Sith but double the sword,” Plagueis answers with the ghost of a smile about his lips.

Now it’s Ben’s turn to snort.

She looks from one man to the other. What’s so funny? She’s not following.

“Rey, turn that off,” Ben orders. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Oh, I think you’ll be the one on the ground,” she threatens above her buzzing sword. 

She starts to spin it, and Ben steps back to raise his hands in surrender. “You win. Now, put it away and leave. I am unarmed and injured,” he tells her with a reproachful look. It makes her want to squirm with shame. And that’s all wrong because he’s the bad guy, right? But there’s her proof that Ben’s real because a Force projection wouldn’t fear injury, she decides.

“Must you two fight so much?” their host Plagueis complains with a heavy sigh. “All families fight, but you take it to an extreme.” 

It’s true. All she and Ben ever seem to do is fight. That’s partly her fault, she recognizes. She knows she’s not good at communicating. She’s not charismatic like Finn or outgoing like Rose. She doesn’t have Poe’s ability to diffuse tension with humor and charm. Too much time alone in the desert has left its mark. More and more, she’s realizing just how ill-equipped she is for life outside Jakku.

That’s especially true where conflict is concerned. On Jakku, conflict was resolved with a win or a loss. There was never a draw. You were the victor or the vanquished. And since Rey was determined to survive, that meant she started her share of fights. It’s a habit she can’t seem to lose. Unfortunately, Ben Solo seems to bring that impulse to the forefront time and again. Plagueis is right—he gets under her skin. It’s for reasons she understands and for reasons she can’t explain. But time and again, she finds herself facing him down, usually with a sword in her hand. Like now.

So, with a deep breath, she deactivates her weapon.

Ben’s shoulders visibly fall at the de-escalation. Even Plagueis looks a bit relieved. “Now that’s out of the way, where are the books? Did you bring the books?” the Sith Lord demands.

She puts a firm grip on her knapsack with her hand and with the Force. “They’re mine.”

“Nonsense. You stole them.”

“I scavenged them.” That’s different.

“I abhor all thievery but my own,” Plagueis announces blithely as he plucks the knapsack from her grip with his power. He proceeds to dump it out on a nearby table and start flipping through the books. “Uhm, yes, just as I suspected . . . ”

She immediately approaches to peek around him. “You can read that Old Aurebesh?”

“Oh, yes. I am quite proficient. There’s nothing new here.” Plagueis casts aside one book to flip through another. “This looks equally unimportant,” he decides after a moment before he reaches for a third volume.

“Hey—watch it—those are sacred Jedi texts.” He’s manhandling the delicate pages in a way that is giving her great anxiety. Those massive clawed hands of his are far from careful. “Watch it!”

But the Sith Master unceremoniously drops the third book to begin poking at yet another. “There’s nothing good here. These aren’t worth your time,” he concludes. Then he gathers up the full set, stuffs them back in her dirty knapsack, and walks across the room.

Rey is hot on his heels. “Those are mine—”

“You don’t need them.” Plagueis tosses the knapsack into the empty hearth. Before she can react, the Sith points a finger and zaps them with Force lightning.

Rey watches in horror as the ancient texts that are her only source of guidance catch fire. “NOOO!” she screams as she dives for the flaming books. She doesn’t get far. Darth Plagueis freezes her in the Force. It’s the same trick Ben used on her on Takodana. 

“Don’t, my dear, you’ll burn yourself,” the Sith Master chides. He holds her frozen until the tombs crumble to grey-black ash. Then he lets her go. 

She is aghast. She trusted the Force and it delivers her here for this to happen? Incensed, Rey lights her sword again. “You had no right!” she sputters in utter frustration. 

This is like when Ben smashed the Wayfinder on Endor and declared that the only way she would get to Exogol was with him. That’s essentially what Plagueis is doing now—acting as a gatekeeper for the knowledge of the Force. Now, the only way to learn the Light is through these Sith, filtered by their theories and perspectives. It’s paternalism at its most insidious. In the moment, her resentment at this treatment is downright Dark. She summons her power and everyone in the room who matters senses it.

“Rey—” Across the room, Ben is on his feet again. “Rey, stand down!"

“Indeed. Don’t you dare swing that ridiculous thing at me,” Plagueis warns. “You have a lot of spirit, my dear, but tamp it down. I am not your enemy.”

Rey keeps the sword lit. “I needed those books—”

“You don’t.”

“I didn’t turn Sith for my grandfather—

“He’s not your grandfather.”

“--so why would I turn Sith for you?”

“You mistake my intent. I don’t want you to be Sith. That religion is dead. I want you to balance the Force.”

She jabs a thumb in the direction of Ben Solo. “Tell that to him. He’s the Chosen One.”

“So are you. Henceforth,” Plagueis proclaims, “there will be no more Jedi and no more Sith. Let the past die. It was terribly flawed.”

She fumes. “That’s all nice but Darth Sidious—the super Sith Master—is still alive!”

Old Plagueis grunts. “For the record, I am the super Sith Master.”

“And yet you’re here hiding in exile,” she jeers recklessly. “Because Darth Sidious drove you out!”

“He did resurrect me,” Ben points out in support of his new Master.

“Fine! But he still can’t beat Darth Sidious!”

“Rey, Lord Ren and I are all you need to learn the Force,” Darth Plagueis assures her. “Together, we can deal with my old Apprentice.”

Does he think she’s an idiot? She can’t learn the Jedi way from either of them. These men are the latest in a long line of Dark Side megalomaniacs who bend the galaxy to their will. They are completely unsuited to mentor her. “You are the Sith!” 

“Not really,” Darth Plagueis freely admits. With a glance over at Ben, he judges, “He’d never make it as a true Sith and let’s just say that I am much reformed from my younger days. Never fear, the Light will be as vibrant as ever in time. But for that, we need your help. Time to learn from Lord Ren.”

“Him? You want him to teach me?” Rey pulls back and lifts her chin with frosty dignity. “Are you mocking me?”

“Not at all. He’s the real deal. I let him live as a Jedi Padawan for years so he would learn the Light. I assumed wrongly that Skywalker would protect him from Sidious. But alas, by the time I realized my old pupil had sunk his teeth into the last of the Skywalkers, it was too late. That’s why you’re around. I created you in the Force as a fallback plan.”

“Oh.” So she’s Plan B to balance the Force? Rey doesn’t like the sound of that.

But Plagueis is oblivious to all but his own aims. He shrugs off her reaction. “It worked out well in the end. I have two of you. Now then, Lord Ren will be your tutor. He’s your authority on all things Light.”

That’s ridiculous. “He doesn't know the Light!”

“Sure, he does. Apprentice,” Plagueis calls across the room. “What is the first lesson of being a Jedi?”

Ben answers immediately. “The Force is for defense, never for attack.”

Not surprisingly, Plagueis dismisses that wisdom out of hand. “That’s a stupid rule. Attack when it is to your advantage, defend when attacked. Got it? Done. What’s the second lesson of the Light?” he calls again to Ben.

This time, Luke’s fallen student is rusty. He has to think a moment before he comes up with, “Trust your feelings.”

“Yes! Trust your feelings. But more importantly, allow yourself to feel emotions, Rey. Listen to the Force speaking to you and acting through you.” The old Dark Master casually suggests, “You know, be a little Sith.”

“This isn’t Jedi training,” she scowls. 

“It’s not supposed to be. Lord Ren will teach you the Light Side of the Force, not Jedi dogma. There is a difference.” Plagueis turns now to Ben. “Teach her what you learned was right and what you learned was wrong and be sure to explain why. Put it all in context. Light and Dark must be in context. The Force has nuance.”

She again complains. “This isn’t Jedi training.”

The comment earns her a stern look. “I told you on Jakku—I will not allow you to rebuild the Jedi Order. Their fire has gone out of the universe. But I do want you to learn the Force. I would train you myself, but I’m busy.”

“Buying art?” Ben suggests dryly.

“No. Thwarting Darth Sidious. It is a round-the-clock task some days,” the veteran Dark Sider sighs wearily.

“What exactly are you doing?” Ben wants to know.

“It requires a great deal of concentration, so don’t bother me with trivialities. I am hard at work saving the galaxy for you two.” Grumpy Plagueis makes it sound like a thankless task. But the half smile on his ruined face tells Rey that’s he’s delighting in it nevertheless. And that makes sense—he’s a Sith getting his revenge. “Now do your part and get to work learning something. Lord Ren, the vacation’s over,” Plagueis scolds as he heads for the door flanked by the two watchful old men in black.

Rey is left still holding her lit sword. She’s even more uncertain now about what to do than she was on Jakku. Because what are these guys—some sort of self-styled modern and reformed Sith? They’re scrambling the usual codes and archetypes of Darkness to keep it freshly seductive—is that it? All the familiar touchstones are there—black outfits, red swords, cynicism, and manifestos. But there are new twists as well, and Rey doesn’t know what to make of them.

For the big baddie isn’t the big baddie, he just looks like who you thought the big baddie was. It is deception on a whole new level. Naturally, he’s out for power. But he’s not angling for Dark Side dominance. Instead, he wants to rule the whole Force through some amorphous concept of balance. So he’s a zealot who destroys relics in an effort to obliterate the past. His predecessors may have destroyed planets like Alderaan and Hosnia, but this book burning control freak wants to destroy ideas. 

His newest sidekick Apprentice turns out to be more petulant than commanding. Ben Solo will never live up to the legacy of Darth Vader because he’s very easy to pity. Ben’s a mixture of pain and hurt so raw that it makes him altogether too appealing for straightforward villainy. This time around, the bad guy is also a victim—both of his Light Side family and of his original Dark Side Master. And that’s not counting the damage that is self-inflicted. It makes Rey want to help Ben, especially when he begs ‘please’ when he asks her to join him. That’s not the usual power move. In fact, it was very nearly effective. Because somehow all Ben’s complexity has her convinced that he’s due for the happy ending he doesn’t seem to want. And here she is again today finding herself all too susceptible to giving him more chances.

As she hesitates with more indecision, Ben approaches as fast as he can limp. “Rey, you need to leave. Leave now. This is a trap.” His voice is rushed and hushed. Just whose side is he on?

Slow-moving Plagueis overhears, of course. He half turns. “This is not a trap.” Is that statement for her benefit? Maybe for Ben’s? 

Well, she isn’t fooled. “I know it’s a trap. But I suppose I’ve already fallen for it,” she admits. With a mournful look at the ashes in the fireplace, she sighs. “I really needed those books.”

Plagueis is firm. “This is not a trap, and you don’t need books. All you need is him,” he points an emphatic finger at Ben.

But Lord Ren is mutinous again. He urges her, “Get out of here—now! Before it’s too late. I’ll try and hold him off for you.”

Plagueis grunts and crosses his arms. He adds an eye roll for good measure. “As if you could ever stop me—“

“Go now! Rey, listen!” Ben isn’t yelling, but the intensity of his words has the same effect. He really, really wants her to leave. She’s befuddled by his motivation. There are undercurrents here she doesn’t comprehend.

And now, Plagueis looks less annoyed. He seizes upon his wayward Apprentice’s plot to help her escape. “You wanted to see the Light in him? See it now! Honestly, girl, you are very stubborn. Either that or blind,” he harrumphs. 

The Snoke lookalike now announces, “I’m going back to work now. Rey, make your choice. Flee if you must, but know that this is where all the knowledge you seek resides. We three are the key to defeating Lord Sidious. You want to be a hero? Stop running away and face your fear of Darkness. Lord Sidious must be stopped. On that all depends.” With that impatient speech, the Dark Side sage continues his progress towards the door.

It leaves her staring at Ben.

“Rey, he’s letting you leave. Go now!”

“Is it true? Is balancing the Force the only way to defeat Palpatine?” She doesn’t know why she’s trusting Ben to answer the question, but she does it anyway. 

“I don’t know. I just know what didn't work last time. Look, I’m sure Plagueis wants to use us as an instrument of his revenge. He wants our dyad.”

“Like Sidious.”

“Yes!”

That dyad had done wonders restoring Palpatine’s power. But the bond is gone, at least for now. Because first she died and then Ben died too. 

“Plagueis was always going to resurrect you, wasn’t he?” Rey realizes aloud. That wily old Sith made himself two Chosen One chances to balance the Force. Of course, he wasn’t going to let one get away if he could prevent it with a Sith resurrection. Yet again, Ben is being used. And his fate was never really in her hands, Rey now understands. He was just the lure to get her here.

“Can you make it to the _Falcon_?” she whispers, looking down at his bandaged leg. 

He shakes his head. “I can’t run anywhere. I’ll only slow you down.”

Yes, she can see that. “How long until it heals?”

“About ten days, I hope. Sooner for the shoulder and the rest of me.”

“Ten days . . .”

“Rey, you need to leave—“

“Not without you.” She can’t defeat Darth Sidious on her own. She needs help. And since the Sith devil you know is better than the Sith devil you don’t, she’s left with Ben as her best ally. So, with a deep breath, she decides, “I guess I’m staying for now.” At least until Ben can escape with her or they balance the Force, whichever comes first. 


	6. Chapter 6

They are alone when Rey returns from retrieving her things from the _Falcon._ She dumps them unceremoniously at her feet and announces, “I’m not calling you Master.” The way she says it tells him she’s very concerned about the issue.

There’s no point in sweating that particular detail in Kylo’s view. “Get in the ship and get out of here,” he growls for perhaps the fifth time.

She brushes him off like before. Rey won’t join him when he wants her to, and now she insists on joining him when he wants to send her away to safety. She lifts her chin and gives him one of her freezing glares. “I’ve made my decision.”

He eyes her in silence. She doesn’t back down. He knew she wouldn’t. So, he observes, “You make a lot of rash decisions.”

A tagalong rolls in behind her. It beeps a greeting and he frowns. “What’s with the droid?”

“He’s called BB8.”

“I can see that he’s a BB unit. Why is he here?” 

“He’s a friend.”

“He’s a droid.” That’s not a friend. “I hate people who take droids with them everywhere. They’re as bad as people who take pets with them everywhere. Send him back to the ship.”

She digs in. She always digs in. “He stays.” 

“Droids record everything they see and hear. Our host won’t like that. He’s hiding here. So unless your little friend wants some Force lightning like your books, send him back to the ship.”

For once, Rey relents. “Good point. Back to the _Falcon_ for you.” She shoos away the rolling bot.

As he watches it go, it triggers a memory. “That’s not the droid with the map to—“

“Yeah, it is.”

Kylo scowls. “All the more reason to send him away.” He glances out the window and his eyes involuntarily finding her transportation. That makes him scowl again. “Why are you still flying that ship?”

“It’s mine.”

Hardly. “If it belongs to anyone now, it belongs to Chewie.”

“I tried to give it to him. He wouldn’t take it.” Rey shoots a reproachful look his way as she divulges, “Chewie said you should have it. To remember your father by.”

Yes, he can just imagine the sarcasm with which the wookiee delivered those words. Chewbacca loved his father. It went way beyond a decades-old life debt. The wookiee’s devotion had ceased to be duty long before he himself was born. Too bad his largely absent father didn’t have that same sort of attachment to him. Just the sight of the _Millennium Falcon_ raises a lot of angst he is uncomfortable with. “Han Solo loved that ship more than he ever loved me,” he hisses. And that’s not precisely true, but it’s his story and he’s sticking with it.

“Your father loved you!” Rey dutifully objects. “Your mother too!” And here she goes again—drawing battlelines for a fight. This girl loves to fight. The Force, droids, his parents . . . the list of things she wants to fight about keeps getting longer. Han Solo in particular made an impression on Rey during their brief acquaintance. Even in late middle age in a fatherly capacity, Han Solo had a way with women.

Rey didn't know the man. She only knew the legend. Just like she didn’t know the real Luke Skywalker. She only knew the legend of the great Jedi Master. Well, this is his first teaching moment, Kylo decides. He tells her, “Don’t vest your feelings in droids and ships. Don’t commit yourself to ideals and causes. Don’t make the mistakes my family has. Invest in people. They matter most.” Too bad his glory hungry mother and uncle and his get-rich-quick-daredevil father never realized that until it was too late. You don’t undo an entire childhood worth of rejection by ‘I’m sorry. I failed you.’

For once, Rey doesn’t fight him. She nods and repeats, “People matter.” The look on her face tells him she’s a bit shocked that he could feel that sentiment. Naturally, she believes the worst in him now that he’s let her down again. He tries not to let that attitude bother him. Rey is just the latest person in his life who he’s disappointed.

“So how do we do this? How do we balance the Force?” Rey recalls him to their task. She’s got her hands on her hips and a let’s-get-down-to-business expression.

“How should I know?”

“You’re the Skywalker.”

“So are you apparently,” he shoots back. 

“Well, how hard can it be?” Rey wonders with newbie naïveté. It’s very irritating how gamely she approaches the riddle that has bedeviled the Jedi for countless generations. But that’s Rey. She never picks up a lightsaber until she wins a duel. He gets in her head for an interrogation and she ends up revealing his secrets. She doesn’t need to train and she barely has to try. No wonder she figured she could best Darth Sidious singlehandedly. 

“It all comes so easily to you, doesn’t it?”

She hears his resentment and raises her chin. “Yeah, yeah it does sometimes. What did Master Skywalker say about—"

“I don’t want to talk about Luke.” Did that come out too fast? It did. Yikes. He flushes.

“Okay, I’ll start,” she offers as she takes a seat on the sofa across from him in Darth Plagueis’ living room. “Luke said that for many years after his father died there was balance.”

He nods. “The Jedi understood balance to mean the Dark Side in retreat.”

“I think you’re right. Because he said it all fell out of balance when you came along.”

“That sounds like my uncle talking.” Bitterness drips from his sarcasm.

Rey looks down and mumbles, “Luke was very afraid of the Dark Side.”

That’s nothing new. “Luke had seen my growing power and feared it. It’s why he refused to teach you. He saw your tendency to the Dark Side.” Rey vacillates between extremes like he does. Now, he understands why. As a child of the Force, she has the very same Dark/Light conflict as a Skywalker.

“Yeah . . . it was the first thing he noticed.” Rey sighs. “It didn’t help matters when he caught us in the bond.”

Does she remember that moment when they touched hands to be as magical as he does? He can’t tell. She’s looking away.

“Luke feared the Dark Side and he struggled with it. He worried that in time he would become Darth Vader. My mother did too,” he recalls.

“She told me.”

“She did?”

Rey nods. “She said that we all have the capacity for Darkness, but we also have the capacity for choice.”

“Let me guess—'Resist it,’” he parrots what his Jedi Master uncle nagged at him for years. “The Jedi believed Darkness is a temptation you must resist. Not a fact of life with its pros and cons. They tend to conflate the means of the Dark Side with the goals of Darkness.”

“Evil . . .” she breathes out warily.

“Yes, among other things.” He cocks his head at her now as he challenges softly, “Do you think I’m evil? Do you still think I’m a monster?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s a yes.”

“I really don’t know,” she hedges.

He pins her with his eyes. “Would it help if I called myself Ben?”

“It might.”

“Neither side of the Force has a monopoly on morality,” he grinds out. This is a sore point. “My good Jedi uncle feared the Dark Side so much it led him to try to murder me, his own Padawan. But my evil Sith grandfather died sacrificing himself for his enemy son. Who was the better person? The one who wanted to kill their kin or the one who tried to save them? You decide.”

“It’s complicated—”

“Yes!” he seizes on her comment. “That’s precisely the point. Life is complicated and life is the Force. So be wary of any creed that sees life as black and white with easy rules to follow. Don’t fall into the trap of focusing on form over substance.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means worry less about how things look and worry more about what they are. Upholding the Jedi Code and swinging a blue or green sword doesn’t automatically make you good and make everything you do above reproach.” 

“And wearing black and swinging a red sword doesn’t mean you’re always bad?” she slowly states the corollary.

“Can you see that?” It’s a serious question. 

“Of course, I can see that. It’s why I came to you on the _Supremacy_. But I was wrong.” Rey bites her lip and looks away. “You were just using me to provoke the fight that would kill Snoke.”

“That’s only half true.”

“You also wanted me to join you . . . ”

“Yes.”

“I was never going to join you,” she rejects him yet again.

“Then why did you come?”

She hesitates.

“Tell me.” He wants to know. He needs to know.

“It doesn't matter now.”

It does. “Tell me.” It matters just like that kiss he can’t remember matters. Because while Rey regularly swings a sword at him, she keeps approaching him as well. That push/pull, hot-and-cold attitude makes her defy easy categorization. He’s never met anyone quite like Rey. 

“Tell me,” he presses, adding a little weight to the command with the Force.

She’s suddenly red faced as she stammers, “I thought you wanted a way back . . . that if someone reached out and it was not Luke or Leia then maybe there would be no baggage from the past and . . . ”

“And what?”

“And you would decide to be good again.”

She came to save his soul. He knew that, of course. “So it was only about the Force and the war?” He poses the question casually, belying its importance. Does she know what he’s asking? 

She does. “I wanted to help you,” she answers. It’s very unsatisfactory. But he thinks he understands. She wanted to help him find his way back to the Light because that’s the only way she will let them be together. It’s the real reason she turned him down on the _Supremacy_. He wasn’t good enough. He only got that kiss on Exogol because she mistakenly believed he had reformed to be a good Jedi. 

Rey’s the one woman in the galaxy who might actually understand him. Plus, she’s an equal. She’s not afraid of him. She’s not impressed by him. Well, probably no one is impressed by him now. He’s a deposed leader at age thirty. Where do you go from here? Well, since he’s a Skywalker, naturally his next move is to attempt to save the galaxy from Darth Sidious. Because basically that’s what all his kin have tried at one time or another. Now, the burden falls to him. It’s his turn to be the hero, except Rey is determined to see him as the villain. So why is he still so drawn to this young woman who rejects him? He can’t explain it.

An awkward silence falls. 

This is going to be a problem, he realizes. They started out talking about the Force and they ended up talking about themselves. It’s making this teaching assignment uncomfortably personal. They have enough ideological conflict to navigate without getting feelings involved. 

Sure enough, when they resume speaking, it’s again about themselves. Rey ventures, “So . . . do you think the bond will come back on its own?”

“I hope not.” Wait. That came out wrong.

Rey looks rejected. “You don’t want it back?”

“No, I do!” Did that come out too fast? It did. Too loudly as well. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want it back . . . I understand. We’re enemies and all . . . ”

“We’re not enemies.” He doesn’t have a word for what they are, but it’s not enemies. 

She looks up. “We’re not friends either.”

Damn right he doesn’t want to be this girl’s friend. Does she see that? He tries to build common ground. He’s desperate for something—anything—to build off of here. For as alike as he believes he and Rey are, they perceive things very differently. But surely, they can unite for the good of the galaxy, if for nothing else. “We both want rid of Palpatine.”

“There is that.”

“That’s a lot.”

“It’s not enough,” she warns him. Because they both know they’re not talking about the Force and the war just now. The subtext to their conversation is the real conversation: just who are they to one another?

She’s taking his words as rejection and that’s all wrong. “I want the bond,” he yelps again. Meaning he wants her in his life. “But I don’t want it yet. Rey, there is no dyad without the bond. And if there is no dyad—“

“Plagueis can’t use us like Sidious did.”

“Right.”

“Can’t he just bridge our minds or whatever Snoke did?” she frets.

“I don’t know. Actually, I don’t know if Snoke even did anything. He may have claimed credit for what happened naturally.” Privately, that’s his favorite version of the bond’s origination—that fate brought them together . . . that despite being on opposite sides of a war and the Force, their mutual attraction was undeniable. But he would never actually voice that silly romantic dribble.

“I wondered if the bond was from the interrogation on Starkiller Base . . . ” she speculates. 

“Perhaps. Force bonds are notoriously persistent. We need to be careful not to do anything to promote it.”

She eyes him. “Stay out of my head.”

“Yes. And I don’t want you to try to heal me.”

“Oh. I was going to suggest that.”

He glances down at his throbbing leg. “It’s the obvious solution, but I don’t want to risk it.”

“I understand.”

“We’ll just train together until I heal.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

Rey now abruptly blurts out, “I think Luke knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Knew that Darth Sidious was alive . . . that he was behind Snoke.”

That pisses him off. “What makes you think that?”

“Something he said. And your mother didn’t seem too surprised when Palpatine showed back up. Luke must have warned her . . . ”

He can’t help it. He feels doubly betrayed now by his uncle.

Rey is still talking. “I think Luke knew . . . it’s why he stayed away until the end. He saw Palpatine trap his father and you. I think he feared he would be seduced by the Dark Side as well. He cut himself off from the Force for years before he died, did you know?”

He growls back, “I don’t want to talk about Luke.” Especially if what she says is true.

Rey cringes. “Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

“Luke is gone. I don’t want to talk about Luke!” he rasps harshly.

For once, she is cowed. “Got it.”

But that sentiment begins to relax when they get started in earnest and he begins talking about his old training. It’s pretty much impossible to talk about the Jedi Academy without talking about Luke. It’s a strange feeling to years later unlock the mental and emotional box in which he has stashed those memories. It’s not pleasant. And it happens mostly in fits and starts.

He finds himself telling Rey, “Luke used to say that meditation renewed the soul. He wanted us to meditate to think through our actions and others’ actions. Connecting to the Force while trying to better understand our connections to others.”

She looks dubious. “I never learned to meditate.”

“Try it. It’s how at the beginning Luke taught us to find the Force.”

She bristles. “I’m not a beginner. I don’t need to try to find the Force.”

“Not everyone has your effortless connection,” he answers dryly. “But there are other benefits of meditation.” For starters, it’s one of the only ways for him personally to relax. “Go on, try it,” he prods, adding, “I think you’ll like it.”

“Alright,” she grumbles. “Show me how.”

“Just close your eyes and quiet your mind until you drift in the Force. There’s no wrong way,” he encourages. “Do it with me now.”

And that’s how he finds himself parroting his uncle’s long-ago words to relax and to breath deep. Oh, the irony of all this, he thinks.

“Can you really sense people across the galaxy in meditation?” Rey asks, eyes closed. 

“Yes.”

“And can you really sense dead people in the Force?”

“I thought I did. But that turned out to be Palpatine in my head.”

Her eyes pop open. Her focus is gone, replaced by fear. “Do you think he can sense us now?”

“Probably. We won’t be able to hide from him for long. Me especially. He loved being in my head.”

She nods gravely. “I’m sorry for what he did to you.”

“Me too.”

Rey looks away now as she gripes, “Luke should have told you. He should have told us both.” 

He mulls it over, his own eyes still closed. “Luke must have been afraid of Sidious, and that would have unnerved him. My uncle always said fear is the path to the Dark Side. He believed the lies of the Jedi. He passed them on in his teaching. I thought he was a hypocrite, but I see now he thought he was a failure. Luke couldn’t live up to his own impossible ideals.” It’s all very depressing to think that the young Jedi hero of the Rebellion learned too late that he had wasted his life. Kylo would pity Luke if he didn’t hate him so much. 

Beside him, she gulps. “You think Plagueis is right, don’t you? You think that the Jedi need to end?”

Kylo opens one eye to respond, “Even Luke thought that. You’re the only holdout.”

Rey looks thoroughly unconvinced. She grumbles, “I’m still mad about those books.”

“I know. I can feel it.” 

Doing his best Sith Master impression, he urges her to meditate on that anger. Rey closes her eyes and dutifully tries to find the Force again as they resume their makeshift training.

It gets him reminiscing again. In some ways, these memories remind him of just how much training he has forgotten. In other ways, they highlight how scattershot and haphazard a teacher Luke was. His uncle was making it up as he went along. The bizarre outcome that he himself has now taken on that role—as the last kinda, sorta trained Jedi passing on what he has learned—is equal parts delicious and appalling. It’s a responsibility Kylo never wanted and never expected. But here he is, pretending to be a Jedi Master with a few dashes of Sith wisdom thrown in for good measure.

Why is Plagueis doing this? That old fossil is very zealous about the whole balance idea. This teaching scheme is for Rey, but it’s also for him, Kylo suspects. Because teaching the basics of the Light stretches his mind and tests his abilities. It also reveals his limits. He’s a very rusty Jedi and it shows. This work is especially exhausting, he’s finding. Like flexing a muscle that has atrophied from long disuse, the effort feels awkward and almost sore. But gamely, he tries. It’s to help Rey, to bolster his own powers, and to spite his dead uncle.

But while he strives, Rey’s heart is not really in it. After a few minutes, he calls her on it: “You’re distracted.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your thoughts betray you. You are distracted.” Her head is a mess of conflicting emotions right now. It’s the furthest thing from the quiet calm of the Light.

“I’m not used to sitting still this much,” she grumbles a meaningless excuse.

“Focus. You can do this. Luke used to make us do this for hours. He said the discipline was good for us.”

“I’m doing this five more minutes, tops,” she warns.

“Then use the time wisely. Focus. Let go,” he urges.

But Rey struggles to hold her concentration. She has amazing power, he’s learning, but very little stamina. That’s her lack of training showing. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed with time and effort.

But she is impatient, for she is used to instant success. “Oh, I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” she moans as she gives up. “This won’t help us kill Darth Sidious,” she complains, jumping to her feet. “We’re wasting our time!”

Kylo opens his eyes and takes in Rey’s belligerent posture. She’s got that harsh, indignant look he’s seen before. “Had enough?”

“You’re the one who’s had enough. You don’t look so good,” she accuses. 

“Well, I’ve been dead . . . ”

She rails again, “This is a waste of time!”

This girl has no patience. He can’t teach her. “It’s too soon to quit.”

“I’m not quitting!”

But, oh yes, is she ever quitting. Frustration is written all over her face and screaming out from her mind in the Force. He’s seen it all before. Mostly, he thinks of Rey baring her teeth or twisting her mouth as she swings a sword his way or attempts to best his power. It’s not pretty, but it has its own aggressive allure. It’s also why that teary eyed version of Rey at Luke’s temple had been so affecting. For this is not a woman accustomed to showing much vulnerability. In the moment, he had been moved to empathy, something very rare for him. But that’s what Rey does—from the very beginning during that interrogation on Starkiller Base, she cut through his posturing and attitude to see the man within. It’s as threatening as it is inviting. His reflex is to recoil as much as it is to reveal himself around this woman. She rattles him.

But just now, she is the one rattled. So, he relents. “Fine. That’s enough for today.” Things have not gotten off to a good start. Besides, his leg is throbbing. A break sounds good. 

“I knew this wouldn’t work,” Rey grumbles with resentment. “This is never going to work . . .”

“It won’t work if you don’t try,” he counters.

“I tried! You’re just a lousy teacher. I need those books—”

“The books are gone. Look, of course, I’m a lousy teacher—I was a lousy Jedi! But I’m the only teacher you’ve got. And the only way I know to teach is how I learned myself.”

“This isn’t going to work . . . “

“Do you have a better idea?” he snaps. “Because I don’t. This is what we need to be doing. You need to learn the ways of the Force before you can bring balance.”

“I’ll be on the _Falcon_ ,” Rey sniffs as she grabs for her discarded belongs and leaves in a huff. 

He watches her go. He’s reminded of his own days as a reluctant, sullen Jedi Padawan. He was the only Skywalker at the Academy and yet he was the worst student. Even young, he rejected all the rules and discipline. Later, he would flee to Snoke and discover that rules and discipline on the Dark Side were much more harsh.

So, recalling his younger days, he lets Rey pout. Plagueis burned her books so she can’t homeschool herself as a Jedi. And Plagueis resurrected Kylo Ren instead of this Ben Solo prince charming she has convinced herself she’s half in love with. That makes him a poor substitute—as a teacher and as a person—by comparison. And she’s mad about it.

Truthfully, he’s plenty disappointed about their reunion himself. He hopes it didn’t show.

Discouraged by her discouragement, Kylo grabs a datapad and starts doomscrolling the newsfeeds. It’s a pastime that gives him anxiety, but he does it anyway. It’s a quasi compulsion at this point. It’s surely a masochist voyeur’s habit as well. For he watches from afar with feigned objectivity events that are highly personal to him.

This afternoon’s press reports tell him what he already knows: the galaxy is a mess again. It’s amazing how fast things have flipped. After Crait, the First Order was poised to control all the major systems within weeks. But now, they are in full retreat and disarray. The news coverage is mostly filtered through the pro-Republic Core world perspective, but Kylo is enough of a realist to perceive that victory is very near for the Resistance. He gives it a few months, maybe even as short as six weeks, before the Order is defeated.

He has to force himself to stop reading. Laying aside the datapad, Kylo sternly reminds himself that the only lasting solution for all this chaos and bloodshed is balancing the Force. The real fight is here, not on star destroyers or in land battles in the Mid Rim. But like Rey, he feels antsy and ineffective hanging out in exile levitating objects and meditating. He knows he should be doing more. He’s a Skywalker and every one of his clan in their own way has tried to make things better. The Skywalkers don’t sit on the sidelines. They are always in the thick of it, usually leading things.

He wonders how the Hell Darth Plagueis has made it through the past fifty years? The Muun mastermind saw the Republic fall and the Empire rise. And then the Empire fell and the Republic rose again. All the while, Plagueis has remained out here on the sidelines watching. Kylo himself could never handle long term exile. It’s been little over a week and part of him wants to attempt a comeback, if only to get back in the action.

Rey looks like she wants to get back in the action as well, he sees, as a flash of yellow lightsaber gets his attention through the window. He hobbles over so he can see better. Rey is outside on the landing pad running drills with that crazy new weapon she constructed. Didn’t anyone ever tell her that lightsabers are supposed to be elegant weapons? That thing looks very unwieldy. Like you might cut an arm off with it.

Concerned, he keeps watching. Rey’s saber passes do not begin to approach any classic lightsaber forms. They are jabs, feints, and blocks she must have learned for her wooden fighting staff on Jakku. Like everything else Rey knows, these skills are self-taught and largely improvised. He admires that self-reliance and independence, but he worries it will make Rey a very poor student. She’s far too used to doing things on her own terms and in her own way.

That worries him for the future. The traditions of the Force are not to be taken lightly. If they are not properly learned, they cannot be properly taught. And that’s a problem because Light Side or Dark Side, your ultimate obligation is to pass on what you have learned.

The old Emperor’s old Master now appears in the doorway. Darth Plagueis approaches to loom at his side. He too watches Rey swinging her new sword.

“Blowing off steam?” the Sith Master with the ruined face raises an eyebrow questioningly.

“She’s always angry.”

“Uhmmm . . . yes. Reckless too,” Plagueis judges. 

“She’s very young.” Much too young for him. Whatever was he thinking??

“That’s not just her youth. It is her desperation showing.”

Kylo says nothing. He just watches her slashing strokes and thinks of his own self hacking away with a sword on computer terminals and walls. 

“Tell me about your progress,” the intimidating Sith commands as they continue to watch.

“It will go slowly,” Kylo predicts.

“We knew she would be reluctant.”

“It’s not that. Things come easy for her in the Force. She expects this will come easily as well.”

“My daughter has plenty of grit.”

That’s not the point. “She has no experience with real training. She has had no schooling of any kind. She thinks she can figure it all out for herself.”

“She may be right.”

That response grates. He doesn’t want the idiot savant of the Jedi to be the one to balance the Force. Not after he has spent years toiling as a Padawan and an Apprentice. If anyone is going to balance the Force, he is.

Kylo lips press into a tight line. “She doesn’t respect what I have to share.” 

“You mean she doesn’t trust you,” the old Master rumbles. “That girl has lived a hard life. Many people she believed in have failed her. It is why she does not trust.”

Yes, and that’s a problem. A big problem. “I cannot fix her. I cannot teach her. She believes the worst of me.” 

“Uhmm . . . yes. She has shown you much aggression. Perhaps you should be aggressive as well,” Darth Plagueis muses lightly, “but with kindness.”

Kylo doesn’t know what to say to that suggestion. It’s not the usual Sith strategy.

Plagueis moves on, looking him up and down. “You look as bad as ever. Did she refuse to heal you?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Too proud? Or waiting for her to offer?”

“I don’t need her help.”

“Can you do it yourself?”

“No.” He’s tried, of course. Several times.

His host doesn’t seem surprised at this response. “Do not be discouraged. Healing is a function of the Light.”

Yes, that’s the problem. His mind doesn’t really work that way anymore. Years of Sith training make even the most basic of Jedi skills very hard. Honestly, he has no idea how he managed to heal Rey on Exogol. It was an impulse that just happened. Before he knew it, he was doing it. Then, she was alive in his lap.

“Lord Ren, when I saw in your memories that you healed a dead woman, I knew that you were completely capable of balancing the Force. More of this instruction—and maybe more of my Daughter—will help you connect with the Light Side again. And then, you will be able to replicate your feat on Exogol.” 

Old Plagueis turns back to the window now. Rey is still out there furiously waving her silly new weapon. 

“She is good for you. And you for her.” 

He used to think that, but now he’s not so sure. “She hates me. She especially hates you.”

Darth Plagueis’ grunts. “Then things can only get better,” he judges wryly. 


	7. chapter 7

Rey is not happy with the predicament she finds herself in, but she can handle it. If she can handle Jakku and Darth Sidious, she can handle anything.

She defaults to what she knows to cope: distance. Darth Plagueis’ unctuous old servant keeps calling her ‘my Lady’ as he presses for her to move into a beautiful guest bedroom in the villa. She resists. Rey announces that she will be sleeping and eating on the _Falcon_ parked on the landing platform. She doesn’t trust Darth Plagueis or his creepy attendants who remind her of the arena spectators on Exogol. The servant Vanee is aghast at her refusal. And perhaps she was a bit churlish when she declined his Master’s hospitality. But she is a survivor who learned long ago not to take chances. She will rest much easier in the familiar bunk on the _Falcon_ where she is seconds away from takeoff and escape.

Darth Plagueis wisely does not attempt to countermand her wishes. But he registers his quiet censure when she marches into the villa first thing in the morning and finds him instead of Ben. “Good morning, Daughter. We missed you at breakfast.”

She nods curtly. “I ate on the ship. Where’s Ben?”

“Vanee is giving Lord Ren a checkup before he leaves for Coruscant on an errand for me. Our patient is improving slowly. Conventional medicine is effective, but not as effective as your talents.”

Rey ignores the deep-set lined eyes that slant her way and the unspoken criticism they convey.

“All things considered, Lord Ren is doing remarkably well,” the Sith Master continues smoothly. “Normally, subjects require six weeks or more after they are revived to regain full strength. But since Lord Ren is so young, hale, and hearty, he is rebounding very rapidly. But for his injuries, he might be almost back to normal already.”

The creepy Muun now pointedly looks her way. Then he waits expectantly. 

“I’m not healing him.” Rey hopes her firm tone will close the topic and also quell any requests from Plagueis that she heal him instead. For truthfully, the one most in need of Force healing is this mangled Muun who looks like he should be dead.

But if Darth Plagueis wants to argue the point, it doesn’t show. He just keeps talking in that easy, conversational way of his that belies the seriousness of the subject matter. This man talks about the Force with the same casual manner others discuss the weather. “Healing is a good skill,” he muses, looking thoughtful. “The old Jedi Order had very proficient healers who made it their lives’ work. They were known to help cases judged to be beyond the reach of modern medicine. They were considered to be miracle workers by many laymen.” He adds, “I knew of a witch who could heal once. She did more than heal a broken body—she healed a broken mind as well. It was simply astounding,” he recalls aloud.

Whatever. Rey’s not impressed by any of this. And witches aren’t real anyway.

“Yes, healing is a good skill. Daughter, you should practice and develop it. See what in time you can accomplish.”

“I’m not healing him,” she repeats. She will not be guilted or goaded into rekindling her bond with Ben so that this crafty old recluse can drain the power of their dyad for himself.

Plagueis regards her now like she’s a petulant child. “Is this payback for your books?”

“In part.”

“You did not need those books.”

“They were not yours to destroy!” she hisses.

He answers calmly. “I did it to protect you. In time, I hope you will come to realize that.” 

His eyes flit over her frame, lingering on the repaired Skywalker saber conspicuously hung at her waist. Plagueis looks for a moment as if he will comment on it, but then he thinks otherwise. He pivots to something else. “May I tell you the story of the last Jedi?” he begins. “It’s a story you only know in part.”

“Luke is dead. There’s no need to disrespect his memory,” she huffs.

Plagueis pretends not to hear. “Luke Skywalker was a young man stolen at birth and secreted away to a far corner of the galaxy. There he remained safely anonymous for his entire childhood. The boy was watched over from afar by a Sith Lord in exile. Yours truly,” the old Master smiles coyly. “He was also watched over by a local Jedi guardian. Kenobi mistakenly thought he was protecting the boy from his father. But the risk of discovery was not from the father who would gladly have welcomed his lost boy home. It was from the father’s Sith Master who feared two Skywalkers allied against him.” Plagueis looks to her. “Do you know why?”

Isn’t it obvious? “Darth Vader wanted to rule the galaxy with his son.”

“Lord Vader was already administering much of the Empire. Lord Sidious had grown bored of the task and was devoting his efforts elsewhere. His particular interests were cloning and Force transfer, which are why he survives to this day. But I digress. Why did Lord Sidious fear the alliance of two Skywalkers?”

Rey dutifully guesses this guy’s favorite topic: “Because they could balance the Force and depose him.” It’s what she and Ben are hoping to do. 

“Yessss,” Plagueis hisses his approval. “Lord Vader had destroyed the Jedi Order in the Purge. All that was left to do to sweep away the past was to kill his hated Master and destroy the Sith. You see, Anakin Skywalker was the Force incarnate. He was both the Jedi prophet Chosen One, who could destroy the Sith and bring balance the Force, and the legendary Dark Lord Sith’ari, who is foretold to destroy the Sith in order to save them. Whether Lord Vader consciously knew it or not, his role was to end both religions from within.”

“But he failed . . . he died,” she protests Plagueis’ version of history.

“Uhmmm yes . . . it was quite a blow for me at the time,” the old man sighs. “In the end, Sheev Palpatine lived and Luke Skywalker attempted to restart the Jedi Order. The battlelines were drawn again between the Jedi and the Sith. It prolonged the conflict for another two generations. Worst of all, it meant Lord Vader’s sacrifice meant nothing. All my worst fears had come true.”

Plagueis blames Luke Skywalker, naturally. “It was all due to the stubborn son I protected for so long on Tatoooine.” The old Sith gripes, “We tried. Force knows, we tried, Lord Vader and I. But Luke could not be convinced to trust us. He feared his father. He feared becoming his father. He also feared his father’s ideas.”

“Vader was a Sith Lord,” she points out the obvious reason for the rift.

Plagueis gives her an ‘oh please’ look. “Lord Vader was a Sith in name only. The man was terribly conflicted. Full of altruism and ambition, determined to use Dark means for his Light objectives. Daughter, don’t believe how the history books depict Darth Vader. They are not true to the complexity of the man. He was a longtime moderating voice within the Empire. Few outside the inner circle knew it, unfortunately. And they didn’t live to divulge the secret.” 

“You must also understand that the Empire was a natural outgrowth of the Old Republic. After the Clone Wars ended, the Empire was the sole source of legitimate authority, law, and order. While many in your generation know the Empire as the bad guys, most of the galaxy back then thought they were the good guys. Sheev Palpatine had saved everyone from the Separatist droid army and the rebel Confederate systems. So, if he erred on the side of crackdowns, that was understandable to many who had lived through a bloody civil war and had no wish to repeat it. Context, my dear Daughter, is everything in history.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she grumbles. 

“Because you’re the new Luke Skywalker. The young hero hellbent on recreating the past . . . the arrogant idealist who wants to make fairytales come true . . . the stubborn ideologue who stands in the way of progress.”

Rey says nothing. She just glares at her host.

“When confronted with his father—a fully trained Jedi Knight of the old tradition—Luke Skywalker thought he knew better. He dismissed his father’s experiences and wisdom and took refuge in accusations.”

“Does that surprise you?” Rey defends her childhood hero who admittedly was a big letdown in real life. “Vader hunted down and murdered the Jedi.”

Plagueis has a different gloss on those events. “Like every powerful Force user, Lord Vader was an agent of change. The Force worked its aims through his actions.” The man who looks like Snoke but isn’t Snoke wags a finger in front of her nose. “The Purge was as much an expression of the will of the Force as it was the culmination of the free will of two Sith Lords.”

“You don’t know that.” Rey is very skeptical of any claim that exterminating Jedi was the will of the Force.

“Believe it,” Plagueis informs her unequivocally. “Because history repeated itself a generation later when the first time didn’t finish off the Jedi completely.” Darth Plagueis leans close as he instructs softly, “Go ask Lord Ren what happened that night at Skywalker’s temple.”

“I already know what happened.”

“You just think you know.”

“He told me. Luke told me too.”

“Then you know that night the Force chose a new champion in Lord Ren. He is the heir apparent to Lord Vader in so many ways. Another son of Darkness born conflicted, ambitious, secretly altruistic, and spectacularly petulant.” Darth Plagueis adds that last bit with a wry smile. “But who am I to judge?” he shrugs. “The Force chooses who the Force chooses. And it is not an easy role to play.”

The old Master now reverts back to solemn warnings again. “Daughter, heed my words, do not be Luke Skywalker. Do not allow your reverence for the past to cause you to squander the chance to kill Darth Sidious, balance the Force, and end the destructive conflict between Jedi and Sith.”

“Why does the Force even allow Sidious to live?” she challenges. “If the Force was fine with killing Jedi, why doesn’t it kill that Sith too?”

“The Force wants balance, and that’s something we must achieve for ourselves. Step back and see the larger picture, Daughter. Sidious lives so that the rest of us must conspire for balance in order to kill him. The Force won’t do our work for us,” Darth Plagueis reasons, “but it will set all the right incentives in motion. It is up to us to follow through.”

“I don’t understand why the Force can’t fix this itself,” Rey grumbles.

“Because the Force grants us free will. Somewhere at the nexus of free will and fate lies the answer to the riddle of balance,” the towering near-human, but not-human portends. “I implore you to let yourself be an instrument of the Force. Resist its will at your peril. The Force will forsake you if you set yourself in opposition to its aims. Hear me on that point, for I speak from experience. I learned the hard way . . . as did Luke Skywalker.”

Enough of this scary lecture. She’s highly skeptical that Luke Skywalker is entirely to blame for the current state of the galaxy. From her perspective, the ascendant Dark Side in the forms of Kylo Ren, Snoke, and Darth Sidious are responsible for the bloodshed. Probably this melodramatic zombie Sith in exile as well. Rey glares at her host. “I am very angry about my books.” 

“Yes, I know.” He’s unconcerned. “In time, I promise to make it up to you.”

Whatever. Rey looks away, impatient to be done with this conversation. Because, like always, the scary things the zealot Darth Plagueis says have the ring of truth. It’s unnerving.

“You don’t trust me,” he accuses softly, correctly reading the play of emotions across her face.

“Do you blame me?” she retorts.

“Not at all. But I warn you that the truth often comes from inconvenient sources. So, don’t go to the Force always thinking you will be in communion with saints. Conventional morality does not apply for these matters. This idea that only the pure of heart have something to teach you is a fallacy.”

She raises an eyebrow at the gall of that statement. “So I should trust the motives of the exiled Sith Master who plotted the Clone Wars and trained my enemy Darth Sidious?”

“The enemy of your enemy is your friend,” the consummate Dark Side strategist points out. 

She’s unimpressed by this logic. Because this all smacks of revenge on this guy’s old Apprentice, and that motive seems very Sith. “I’m supposed to believe you’re some kind of reformed sinner? Is that it?”

Plagueis chuckles. “Still a sinner and not quite reformed,” he assures her, his eyes twinkling. But he is serious again immediately. “Rey, stop rejecting problematic people out of hand. Cease all the moralizing and attempt to divine their meaning. Because good or bad, Vader happened. Like Ren happened."

“I’m not dead yet.” It’s Lord Ren himself limping into the room and overhearing that last comment.

“You were dead, but I remedied that problem,” Plagueis flexes smugly.

Ben looks affronted for having been consigned to the past. He growls at both of them, “Don’t underestimate me. I’ve very much alive now.”

“That’s the spirit, my boy,” their host commends. “No sling?” he notes Ben’s unbandaged shoulder.

“No sling,” Ben confirms. His eyes dart her direction now. He sees the lightsaber hanging at her hip and he, unlike Plagueis, chooses to comment. “I guess it’s not a moment too soon, since she came prepared to duel.”

“Yes, I saw. At least she’s not wearing the other contraption,” Plagueis sniffs. “That’s a terribly impractical weapon.”

“Ugly too,” Ben adds his two credits. “It makes her look like she’s trying too hard.”

Plagueis disagrees. “Trying too hard is a Death Star. Not a stick with a sword. If anything, she’s not trying hard enough.”

“It will kill you both all the same,” bristling Rey threatens back. She’s irritated by the two men discussing her as if she’s not in the room. These Dark Side guys have condescension down to a science, she observes sourly.

Old Plagueis has the ghost of a smile about his lips as he turns to Ben. “Remind me again, what is the first lesson of the Light Side?”

Ben answers with a solemnity that verges on sarcasm, “A Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defense, never for attack.”

“Was that in her books?” Plagueis wonders.

“Presumably so. Alas, we’ll never know,” Ben mock laments.

“Ah well,” the old Sith feigns remorse, “What’s done is done. I leave it to you to teach her the basics, my Lord. See that she gets further today. It seems she failed to learn even the first lesson.”

“Are you sure she’s not really a Palpatine?” Ben smirks over at her belligerent stance.

“Oh, assuredly. She’s much too pretty.” Old Plagueis shoots a glance Ben’s way as he adds, “Or didn’t you notice?” 

Now, it’s Ben’s turn to look a bit annoyed. But that exchange reminds fuming Rey of a question she’s been dying to ask. Before they got sidetracked on Plagueis’ version of history that makes Luke Skywalker the villain not the hero, Rey had a serious issue to address. 

Turning to their host, she asks, “Who was my mother?” If she was begotten by the Force, surely she had a human mother.

Darth Plagueis the Wise claims ignorance. “My dear, I have no idea. Whoever she was, she is lost to time. But you have us. We are your family now.” With that cloying sentiment, the old Sith Master sweeps regally from the room, but not before urging them both to get to work.

Rey exhales with relief. Darth Plagueis the Wise gives her the creeps. She’s met two Dark Masters in her life—Snoke and Sidious—and Plagueis is nothing like either of them. Sure, Plagueis is threatening. But it’s not for his violence, his Force lightning, or his Dark sorcery. It’s mostly for his bizarre ideas. Moreover, Plagueis isn’t threatened by her weapons or her skills. Instead, he is threatened by her books. But in the end, he seems to fear the same thing Snoke feared in her—that she represents the spirit of the Jedi. Snoke’s solution was to kill her. Plagueis’ solution is to convince her of a new creed. Rey still isn’t certain what to make of what she just heard.

She turns to Ben now. “Are you really better? Or did you just ditch the sling?” She’s wise to his tough guy routine. This is a guy who pounded his own wound for power in the Starkiller woods. He’s no stranger to pain.

“I’m better.”

She believes him. “I’m glad.”

Ben’s eyes dart over to the door where Darth Plagueis just exited. “It’s too bad you still don’t know the truth of your family.”

“It’s okay,” she pretends. “Do you think he was lying about my mother?”

“No,” Ben judges. “I think he truly doesn’t know what happened. I don’t think he cares either.”

The topic now prompts Ben to claim, “I didn’t intentionally lie to you. That bit about your parents being junk traders . . . I think that was an idea Sidious gave me. One of many,” he gripes bitterly. He is rueful now and it’s kind of endearing. Ben would probably be offended to know it, but he’s most engaging when he’s not doing his stomping, fist clenched, sword raised Kylo Ren routine. When he drops the First Order Dark Prince posturing, he becomes shockingly vulnerable. It’s a juxtaposition that is as unexpected as it is intriguing. Because Rey likes to think he only does it for her.

In stilted fashion, eyes firmly averted, Ben now proceeds to tell her something she suspects he’s told very few people: “I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry if I misled you or hurt you . . . ”

Wow. Rey nods like that statement is no big deal. “It’s okay. I am fine being Rey Nobody.”

“Not Rey Skywalker?”

“You know about that?” She’s instantly embarrassed.

“Plagueis told me. He was pleased. He said it was your insight peeking through.”

“I had no idea I was a child of the Force until he said so. I’m still not sure I believe him.”

“Believe him. It’s true.”

“I guess it’s better than being a Palpatine,” she makes a lame joke. “Anything is better than that.” But still . . . she wishes she knew the truth.

Rey looks away now, blinking fast. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture. Talk of her missing past dredges up a lot of emotions. Confusion, disappointment, and frustration are at the forefront. But mostly, she feels an awful sense of regret for remaining on Jakku so long in vain hopes of a reunion with her family. Maybe Plagueis would say that was the Force’s way to protect her anonymously, but looking back all she can see is needless anguish in poverty. And but for a lost droid in the desert, she’d probably be on Jakku today. Starving and sweating while she dreamed of better days.

“Rey.”

She looks up. Ben appears as intensely sincere as she’s ever seen him. It gets her attention. 

“I know you want to know who your mother was. But in the end, it doesn’t matter as much as you think. Because you and the Force decide who you are. Not your parents.”

“Yeah . . . “ she breathes out with resignation. “I think you’re right.”

“I know I’m right. You are a child of the Force. I don’t know why I didn’t see it straight away. But it explains a lot.”

He’s right. It does. “So, I guess this time the Force made a scavenger instead of a slave . . .”

“Was there really much difference?” Ben asks with surprising gentleness.

She sighs and bites at her lip. “In many ways, no.”

Does her discouragement show? It must, for Ben takes a step forward. He’s almost in her personal space now. “I’m fine for you to be Rey Skywalker,” he assures her. “It suits you. And I think my family would approve. You’re upholding the legacy they thought I would carry on.”

Now Ben’s the one who looks discouraged. Rey tries to be diplomatic as she returns the sympathy. “It must have been hard being the son of heroes.”

“You have no idea. The Force chose you, but you also chose this life.”

“That’s true.”

“I didn’t choose this.”

Oh, come on. “You chose Darkness—“

“Not the way you think.”

She recalls Plagueis’ words from earlier. “Tell me again about the night you destroyed Luke’s temple.”

Ben rebuffs her. “I don’t want to talk about Luke.”

Sure, that’s what Ben says, but all he does is talk about Luke. She persists. “But—“

“I said I don’t want to talk about Luke!” Ben abruptly turns on heel and half-stalks, half-limps across the room. The mutual empathy between them is over. The set of his jaw and the set of his shoulders reveal just how bothered he is. His guard is up again. It’s pure Kylo Ren.

So Rey backs down. It’s not because she’s intimidated, but because she doesn’t want to prod him into confidences. She wants his secrets freely given because they trust one another. Clearly, they’re a long way from that. But today—just now—felt like a real conversation. Usually, they shout accusations and threats at one another. And then, they start swinging swords. She’s probably to blame for that outcome as much as he is, she knows.

Well, after yesterday’s upsetting reunion, she’s attempting to keep things civil. Friendly, even. So, she volunteers, “I tried meditation last night.”

He turns in surprise. “How did it go?”

“Better.”

“Good.”

“Can I show you?”

“Let’s do it together.”

He sprawls in a chair and she flops on the couch and together they separately drift in the Force for a bit. It’s nice. Then Ben starts to teach her the traditional Jedi theories about the Force. He explains how the Jedi understood the Force to be an energy field created by all living things that surrounds us, penetrates us, and binds the universe together. It acts in the moment, through what they called the Living Force, and it acts over time, through what the Jedi termed the Cosmic Force. 

The Living Force is what she senses in the here and now. Ben explains that this is the Force that she can command when she lifts rocks and moves objects. This is the power to influence others’ minds and to read others’ thoughts. It is a wellspring that constantly renews itself through the cycle of birth and death. All life comes from the Living Force and, in time, returns to the Living Force, only to be born again. But in its temporal manifestation as a particular living being, the Living Force leaves a unique essence. That is a being’s Force imprint. Ben describes it as akin to a mental snowflake. For Rey and other Force users, it is the memory of what a person’s individual Living Force feels like. It’s why Rey always knows when a friend like Finn is approaching. Her extra sensitive mind recognizes the sensation of his Force. Force users themselves naturally have bigger, bolder Force imprints. 

The Cosmic Force is better understood as the hand of fate according to Ben. It acts through the ages, across generations, and throughout history. The arc of the moral universe is long, he assures her, but it bends towards balance. And so Dark times give way to the Light ultimately, and vice versa in a cycle never-ending. That is the ebb and flow of time. It meanders forward for a bit, and then it heaves and jolts during periods of rapid change that give birth to new eras. The Cosmic Force is beyond anyone’s command, he warns. You don’t control it, it controls you. Powerful Force users are the favorites of the Cosmic Force. It acts through them and with them to achieve its aims. So when Luke Skywalker took the one-in-a-million shot in the Death Star trench, Ben argues, that was less his own personal feat than it was the Force at work. The Force was punishing the Dark hubris that destroyed Alderaan. Push too far on either the Light Side or the Dark Side, Ben warns, and the Force will strike back. For if you tip the equilibrium of the status quo far enough, you risk provoking an equal and opposite reaction right back at you. And thus, the Force sets limits to what it will tolerate. Always remember, Ben teaches, that the Force seeks balance. It will self-correct on an ongoing basis to achieve it.

Every now and then, Ben adds, the Cosmic Force will give you a peek behind its opaque veil through a vision. Be careful with visions, he warns, for they can tempt you to tinker with destiny. That’s a trap. The Cosmic Force cannot be altered by free will. Whatever will be, will be. Accept it. Give in to it. Or risk becoming an obstacle that the Cosmic Force will run over. Supposedly, there are portals into the Cosmic Force where you can step into the past and the future. Snoke told him about them, but Ben himself has never seen one. 

Today’s teaching is cerebral knowledge that Rey finds to be very abstract. It’s a lot to wrap her head around. Frankly, she’s used to thinking of the Force as a tool. As a means for tricks and sleights of hand. She discovers the skills herself or copies them from Ben. So she’s a bit dubious when she asks, “Do you think those theories are correct?”

“I do. I think they explain a lot of the interaction between fate and free will. Or between the Cosmic Force and the desires of individuals,” he states it differently.

Those concepts seem very much at odds to her. “Do you believe in destiny? Do you believe in the Cosmic Force?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because destiny ruined my life.”

“Oh.” There’s a story there, but his expression warns her not to ask. They go back to training.

It’s strange talking civilly and working collaboratively with Ben while their friends and allies are killing one another lightyears away. But the Resistance and First Order priorities are not their priorities any longer. That’s no fault of hers, Rey decides, since she did her best to convince everyone that Darth Sidious is still a threat. No one listened. 

But Ben was there at Exogol. He understands the risk and the urgency, and he’s stepping up to help again even though the first time killed them both. She respects that courage. She admires that commitment. Those qualities only serve to deepen the man’s mysterious attraction. But is she also attracted to Ben’s Darkness? Maybe to his danger? Or, she gulps, maybe even to his depression? He broods like she broods, she’s observed. She’d be lying if she said his pensiveness didn’t draw her in. There’s just something familiar about this man’s struggles even if they are very different from her own.

In her foolish romantic dreams before Crait, she was the young woman who reformed the wayward, fallen son. She alone saw a spark of humanity remaining within a monster past redemption. Everyone had given up on Kylo Ren except her. She coaxed him back with her good example that inspired the small flicker of good within him to burst into a blazing flame. For all Kylo Ren needed is love, she had stupidly believed. And not the love of a parent figure, but the love of a friend . . . maybe even a lover. Someone to believe in the better version of him so that he could rise to the occasion. But . . . he didn’t. Her actions helped Ben kill his Master in a bid to consolidate power. It was a bold move that might have worked had Snoke not turned out to be a puppet on a throne. In the end, power was far more alluring for Ben than what she offered. He hadn’t even hesitated when she asked him to spare the Resistance. Instead, he looked her in the eye and urged ‘ _Let the past die_.’

And here she is assisting with that goal. Trying to kill what remains of the old Sith religion while the Jedi way fades into history. What will replace it going forward? Plagueis and Ben want some amorphous balance idea. But she is extremely skeptical. It all strikes her as Sith-lite. So why is she doing this? She’s not sure, and only half onboard. But if balance means killing Darth Sidious and pulling Ben back from the Dark Side, then those are two big wins. For part of her still wants to be the woman who coaxes Kylo Ren home to the good side . . . or at least to the middle, if that’s what balance means. 

Could they meet in the middle? What would that look like?

It’s with that goal in mind that Rey works up her courage to ask something that has bothered her for months. “In the throne room . . . when you asked me to join you . . . what were you offering me?”

The question is a non sequitur for the Force lore Ben’s teaching. It is met with a long pause.

She takes back the question, “Forget I asked—“

Just as he answers, “Everything.”

“Everything . . . ” she whispers. Her eyes lift to search his. Yes, it was just like she understood in the moment. “Everything . . . ”

He nods and blurts out, “Anything.”

“Oh.” She’s flustered now. Rey looks down again as she mutters, “I was never going to join you.” He was supposed to join her on the good side. Not vice versa.

“Not even if I had let the Resistance go?”

She thinks a moment and decides, “No. That would have just deferred the conflict. Ben, your mother would have opposed you to the end.”

“I know. But she’s gone. What would you do?”

She confused. “What do you mean?”

“Would you have made peace with Supreme Leader Kylo Ren?”

Is this a question? She lifts her chin. “I’m not the surrender type.”

“Not a surrender. A peace. The Republic keeps the Core and the First Order keeps the Rim.”

Are they negotiating? “That would never work.”

“It’s what the Separatists wanted.”

“You mean split the galaxy in two?”

“Yes.”

Oh. That’s a possibility she didn’t anticipate. The dream of the New Republic has always been a unified galactic democracy. Leia Organa would never accept anything less than freedom for all systems, and Rey doubts Finn and Poe will feel any differently. Most especially Finn, given his personal experience.

She shakes her head. “Why are we even talking about this? None of this matters now.” 

“You brought it up.”

It’s true. But her eyes narrow as a sneaking suspicion dawns. “You’re not thinking of going back to the First Order are you?”

To her great relief, he answers no. “What’s the point? Even if I could rebuild the Order, it would always be in the shadow of Darth Sidious. I would never know who’s a true loyalist for him lurking in my ranks. I would be his pawn again.”

“I’m sorry for that,” Rey tells him. Not because she likes the First Order, but because she appreciates the disillusionment Ben must feel. She’s felt a lot of disillusionment herself lately. 

He nods to acknowledge her sentiment and it actually feels like another moment of true rapport. Like when long ago they talked through the bond when she was on Ahch-To. And also like when they spoke about her parents earlier today. Rey sees glimpses of that sincere young man now and then beneath the bitterness, the posturing, and the sarcasm. It rekindles her hope. She’s not sure if that’s a good thing. But every time, it works.

Ben seems resigned to let his old ambitions go, and that’s a huge relief. He tells her, “The only work that matters is our work. Here. Now.”

He’s right, but she doesn’t like it. She especially doesn’t like the setting. Looking around them, she grumbles, “I can’t wait to get away from here. Mr. I’m-not-Snoke gives me the creeps.”

“Whether we do the work here or elsewhere doesn’t matter. In many ways, this is the safest place.”

He has a point. If Darth Sidious hasn’t flushed his old Master out by now, this place must be pretty safe. And here Ben isn’t a wanted fugitive from the Resistance. Everyone will believe he’s dead unless she tells them otherwise. 

And, actually, that particular issue worries her a lot. Kylo Ren alive and well is big, big secret to keep. But she’s going to have to keep it if they are to have any chance of defeating Darth Sidious. She knows her friends in the Resistance won’t understand. She rationalizes the deception by telling herself that Kylo Ren without his armies is much less of a threat. 

Moving away from the First Order is a huge step for him. Maybe he wasn’t ready to be Ben Solo at Crait . . . maybe he needed to be humbled by death and defeat before he could break free from the thrall of the Dark Side . . . maybe there is still hope for him yet. Has she been too harsh on Ben? She can’t shake the feeling that, at least in some ways, he is as much a victim as he is a villain. And he is willing to put aside their differences now to work towards balance . . . even if like with Plagueis, it smacks of revenge on the Sith who stole his empire.

It prompts her to share the truth of her feelings. “In the throne room, I . . .”

“Yes?”

Her heart is pounding as she admits, “I wanted to say yes.”

This feels like divulging a big secret, but Ben seems unimpressed. Like he already knew. He responds by giving her a second chance. “It’s an open offer.”

“I don’t understand.” What can he offer her now?

“I can’t give you an Empire. I can’t bring a new order to the galaxy. All I can offer you is my knowledge and my perspective.” He shrugs as he anticipates more rejection from her. “You don’t really seem to want it, but you need it.”

She squirms a bit. But in the interest of more honest communication, she confesses, “It’s not that I don’t want help. It’s just . . . well, this is harder than I expected.”

“Difficult things can be worth it.”

“Yeah?”

“Difficult people too.”

“I know.” She feels her face flush as she wonders if he’s talking about him or her. “So, the deal was for everything?”

“Yes.”

“And your standing offer?”

“It’s for everything too. Everything or anything.” 

“Oh.”

The Force feels like it is cracking and popping around them, but maybe it’s just her imagination. Because the intensity with which Ben now holds her gaze is unnerving. Suddenly shy, she looks away.

When after a moment she neither accepts nor declines, he resumes his instruction. “When we are passed all these basics, I want to teach you some defensive skills.”

“I can already beat you with a sword,” she reminds him.

“I’m not talking about combat. I’m talking about mental shields. Right now, any trained Force sensitive can easily skim your emotions and any strong thoughts. I can teach you to hide all that.”

Rey is taken aback. “You know what I’m thinking?”

He nods. “It doesn’t take much concentration to get the general gist. Back when we had the bond, I saw it all without any effort.”

“You did?” she gulps. “All??”

“Yes.” Looking supremely smug, Ben reveals, “In Snoke’s throne room, I saw it all.”

Her eyes widen and her pulse quickens. “You knew what I was thinking?”

“Yes. Your thoughts betrayed you.”

“Oh.” OOooooh.


	8. chapter 8

Rey walks in the next morning and catches him brooding over the newsfeeds. He’s watching the traitor stormtrooper who has promoted himself to general crow about the latest Resistance victory. 

Rey recognizes the traitor’s voice before he can mute it. “Finn has the Force,” she announces.

“I know.”

“You do?”

Kylo nods. “He served as a trooper on a raid under me once. I thought I sensed something then. When he fought me on the Starkiller, I knew for sure.”

“Oh.” Her flummoxed expression tells him that Rey herself had not picked up on the traitor’s latent talent immediately. 

Kylo shrugs. “I thought he died when the base blew.” Too bad he didn’t. General Finn is turning out to be an effective opponent for the First Order remnants. As a former stormtrooper, the guy knows far too much about the mindset of his enemy. 

“Chewie got us both off just in time,” Rey explains as she flops down on the couch.

“Snoke made Hux save me,” he volunteers as he lays his datapad aside. That was a humiliating escape, even if he lived to fight another day. Even back then, he recalls, he was attempting to train Rey. “I guess after that fight, you never thought you’d accept my offer to teach you the ways of the Force . . . “

“That’s right,” she is blunt. “But assuming we figure this balance thing out,” Rey ventures, “can we train Finn?”

Hell no. Not a chance. But . . . well . . . reminding himself that he’s supposed to be charming this girl with kindness, he offers, “Sure. Why not?” The magnanimity is killing him. But perhaps his old colleagues will kill General Finn and the issue will become moot. 

Rey is pleased. She even smiles a bit. And that makes the offer worth it. 

It’s time to get to work. They begin the day in meditation. Then, he gives his best Uncle Luke impression as he begins a rambling monologue of Force information. He’s attempting to download years of Jedi knowledge with an emphasis on two ideas: do not fear the Dark Side and beware the will of the Force. Those points are not part of the traditional Jedi curriculum. They are his own gloss on what his uncle got wrong.

He and Rey are a strange pair as teacher and student. He is the one with years of formal training in both religions of the Force. It’s more than mere book learning. He has lived according to the Jedi Code and enacted the rage of a true Sith. He’s carried a blue sword and a red sword. He’s been the good guy in the sandy tunic and the villain in a black hood. It’s a truly unique set of experiences that few in history can equal. 

But Rey doesn’t seem to value it. That’s partly the moral blinders she has on and partly her complete lack of Force knowledge and historical context. But he can’t fault her for that ignorance. Unlike himself, she wasn't raised in the lore of the Force. She had no expectations of ever shouldering these responsibilities. These also weren’t risks she ever expected to face. In some ways, that better positions Rey for their task of balancing the Force. She fails to appreciate just how daunting it is. He wishes that were the case for him. 

But her skepticism for his version of the Light is frustrating. It becomes clear by mid-morning that he needs to tell Rey more than just how the Force works. He also needs to explain why he’s arrived at those conclusions. It’s the only way she will be convinced to step out of her mindset to see things from a different point of view. But fuck . . . he was hoping not to have to talk much about his uncle. But since Rey still clearly reveres Luke Skywalker, Kylo decides it’s time to knock the guy off his pedestal. And so, slowly he starts to tell the tale he’s obsessed over for years. And really, Rey ought to know this history. For it is not just a teachable moment for the Force. It’s also the defining moment of his life.

He’s analyzed it any number of ways, trying to glean information and explanations. The years distance has helped. He’s no longer a crying wreck about it like he once was. Just last week, he was able to relate it all to Plagueis with a dispassionate, bored tone he was proud of. Kylo’s well aware that his longtime default coping skill is to convince everyone just how little he cares about anything. When, in fact, he cares about everything . . . a lot. Somehow Rey realized that straightaway. That gives him comfort as he starts remembering aloud the night he destroyed the Jedi Temple and set the galaxy on the path to civil war.

“I was asleep with the others in the guys’ dorm. Luke came in and I woke up at the sound of his saber lighting. Maybe a little sooner—it’s hard tell. I barely had enough time to react as he swung at me for the kill.” He had nightmares for years afterwards of his crazed uncle hacking away at him. Cutting off his limbs one by one until Luke announced that he had made him just like his grandfather. “Luke didn't even aim for the head,” he snarls. “It has all the finesse of chopping wood.”

Rey just listens for once.

“I had my sword by my bed. It leapt into my hand without even thinking. Maybe that was the Force trying to protect me, I don’t know . . . It’s hard to kill a Skywalker.” Thank the Force for that. “I parried him in the nick of time and then I fought back. It all happened so fast. I was acting on instinct to survive.”

Does she believe him? She needs to believe him. It’s critical that Rey understands this wasn’t intentional.

“There wasn’t even a fight. I summoned a power I didn’t know I had. It was a Force shockwave. A classic Dark Side move from the days of the Great Galactic War. Darth Malgus was famous for it,” he tells her as she blinks at him blankly. “Before I could think, I threw up a hand in Luke’s direction and I instantly destroyed the entire Temple. The whole place lay in ruins . . . like a seismic charge had gone off. Luke was gone. Everywhere people were dead. I was the only one standing . . . or so I thought at first.”

There. He said it. And to his ears, it sounded composed and detached. So far, so good.

“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill them. They were my friends. . . Well, some of them . . .” 

Rey says nothing. 

It makes him defensive. The scorched earth that is his conscience fights against the facts as he knows them. “You fight an enemy in a duel! You confront them and challenge them! You don’t creep up to execute them unaware. Well, maybe a Sith would,” he babbles nervously, “but not a Jedi. They’re supposed to be better than that.” His words are bitter even as he pleads for forgiveness. “It was self-defense! I was attacked.”

Rey still says nothing. 

“Apparently, Luke later sent some message to my mother claiming that he went to confront me about Snoke and I turned on him. That I went berserk and destroyed everything and killed everyone. Because Snoke had turned my heart Sith . . . because I was Dark . . . ” In other words, his family’s worst fears had come true.

All his effort at composure fails him now as anger at his treatment grows. “Luke lectured all the time about Darkness. Nagging that the Force is for defense, never for attack. But he was full of lust to kill that night! He was the guy who lit his sword and attacked, not me! There wasn’t any talking! It wasn’t some Jedi intervention! That night, Luke was every bit the Sith he was worried I would become.”

“You did become that Sith,” Rey finally speaks.

“Thanks to Luke,” he snaps back. “Did my mother tell you? She and Luke always knew Snoke was out there. Maybe they knew he was Sidious, maybe not . . . I don’t know . . . But my uncle still publicly claimed to have destroyed the Sith. He boasted that he had balanced the Force. . . that the Light had won along with the Rebellion and everything would be good again . . . the new Jedi would rise, the Republic would prosper, and it would be happily ever after. Luke believed that himself for a while, I think . . . until he knew better . . .”

“He and Snoke did balance in a way,” Kylo supposes. “Luke rose and then Snoke emerged from the shadows. It’s the classic pattern from all the Jedi-Sith conflict. One side rises and the other rises to meet it.” That never-ending battle has always been a sort of counterbalancing status quo. Except this time with Sidious will be different, he vows. This time it ends and the past dies for good.

“My uncle liked to take me aside for private lectures on the evils of the Sith. I didn’t know why back then. I didn’t yet know that Vader was the Dark secret of the family tree. I thought I was being singled out because I was the only Skywalker student and I was such a lousy Jedi.”

That description prompts a wry smile from Rey. “Face it, Ben. You are the worst Jedi ever.” 

Not really. Anakin Skywalker probably holds that title. But he is not far behind in second. 

“I was terrible . . . just terrible,” he recalls. “It frustrated Luke. It embarrassed my mother. They complained that I wasn’t trying and that was sort of true. I wanted to be a normal kid with a normal life. To be in regular school, not a Jedi Temple. That was their dream, not mine.” He scowls at the memory of the family fights of his childhood. Almost all of them were about him. About who he should become and how soon his uncle should train him. “Like it or not, I was supposed to live out their goal of reviving the Jedi Order to make amends for the sins of my secret grandfather. Except I didn’t want it! I grew to hate it over time. I kept running away. That’s how I met Snoke.”

“You ran away from Luke?” He has Rey’s attention now. Evidently, his mother omitted that part of the story.

Kylo nods. “I ran away a lot. I wasn’t certain what I wanted when I was with Luke. And even when I finally got to Snoke, I still didn’t know.”

“Let me guess--Snoke lured you?”

“Oh, no. He sent me back.”

“He did?”

“He sent me back a few times, actually. But Snoke gave me a way to contact him. Just in case, he said.” Kylo sighs as he recalls, “After the news broke about my grandfather, I tracked him down. I wanted to know more about the Dark Side so I could understand who Darth Vader really was. I even asked Snoke to teach me the ways of the Force so I could become a Sith like my grandfather. I didn’t really mean it . . . I just wanted to choose a different path from the Jedi life I was failing at . . .”

“And?”

“Snoke turned me down. He sent me home.”

Rey squints at this unexpected move. “Why?” 

“He said I wasn’t ready. That the time wasn’t right. Snoke refused take me on as the Apprentice until I impressed him.” That was the master manipulator Darth Sidious playing him like a fiddle. Withholding the forbidden fruit of the Dark Side to make him lust for it more. Soft pedaling his recruitment into a very effective seduction.

Rey shoots him a look as she crosses her arms. “Let me guess, destroying Luke’s Temple got you the job?”

“Yes. There was no going home after that. Luke would have killed me. He would have felt righteously justified about it too, since that shockwave proved him right. I was Dark and dangerous, Rey. He would have put me down like a rabid Lothcat and felt justified.”

Does she agree? He can’t tell. Rey might be too bamboozled by the fairytale version of his uncle who famously refused to fight his own father. Well, whatever qualms Luke once had clearly relaxed over the years. Because while he wouldn’t duel with his enemy Sith Lord sire, he was perfectly fine executing his teenage nephew Padawan.

Does Rey understand? He was a scared a kid at the time. Frightened of the reckoning with his Jedi Master uncle. Terrified to be held accountable for all the deaths for which he was responsible. In retrospect coming from Kylo Ren, maybe this story seems to Rey like a violent rebellion. But in real time, it was more akin to a fugitive’s desperation. Because back during that very distressing, horribly confusing time, the only truth left to cling to was the will to survive. He sure as Hell was not going down for his uncle’s crime. He refused to present himself for punishment like a good Jedi. Because fuck all that. The dogma he had long resisted had failed him, Luke, and everyone at the Temple spectacularly. 

It left him with two bad options. “I could either live life on the run or flee to Snoke.”

Rey frowns. “You didn’t think anyone would believe you?”

“Would you?” he challenges. “Would you take the word of a troubled kid over the legendary Jedi hero?” There was no way he was ever coming out of that scenario as anything other than the loser. “Like it or not, I was the Apprentice then. Snoke knew it and I knew it. We all knew it. None of this was intentional,” Kylo mutters. “Not really.” Not the way everyone thinks.

Rey starts in on her rebuttal now. “Luke said he saw your future. That you would bring destruction and pain and death and the end of everything he loved because of what you would become . . . that in a moment of pure instinct, he thought he could stop it.” 

“That’s probably right,” Kylo agrees. “He saw my Darkness. And then, Darkness arose in him. It was nothing new. I’d seen it before. Luke would repress it and it would surge from time to time. He was masterful at repressing it. I think the urge only grew stronger as he denied his Darkness and as his power grew.”

He now tells Rey what prompted him to tell her this story in the first place. It’s the punchline of the lesson he’s trying to teach: “That night was a breaking point for my uncle. And it ruined my life.”

But few know that. The truth of that what happened at the Temple was neatly hushed up after he fled. To the galaxy at large, he became the ‘minor with name withheld’ Jedi Academy school shooter who slaughtered his peers. The unnamed kid who would become Kylo Ren rage quit the New Jedi Order in a violent frenzy. The cover story was a lie for his family to save face. They went to great lengths to erase his memory, even going so far as to make him a victim. For officially young Ben Solo perished in the carnage. 

Rey is still playing Jedi apologist even though he knows she has sympathy for his predicament. She’s very troubled as she tells him, “Luke said he was no match for the Darkness rising within you.”

Damn right, he wasn’t. “Luke never saw that shockwave coming--but neither did I. He acted on Dark instinct to murder and I reacted on Dark instinct to save myself. Skywalkers are hard to kill. Luke lived. I did too.”

“He said you disappeared with a handful of students.”

“That’s true. Three survived. I took them with me.” He feared leaving them with crazy uncle Luke. Foolishly, he thought he was saving them. But he was leading them, like himself, into slavery to Snoke.

“Where are they now?” Rey asks.

“Dead.” He still feels badly about that, even though he couldn’t stop it. “Snoke initially wanted to make them a new version of the Imperial Inquisitors. But when they questioned the Dark Side one by one, he killed them.” He sees now that was probably the plan all along. No doubt Darth Sidious didn’t want any almost-Jedi lingering around. “Snoke wanted just me. Sidious wanted to use me to build his new empire and stage his comeback.”

“Because you are a Chosen One,” Rey astutely connects the dots.

Kylo nods. “He must have known that the Force would protect me and that the safest place for him to keep me was as his Apprentice. I was also the perfect strategic choice to pit against my mother and my uncle. I was a very different sort of enemy because I provoked their guilt.”

And now, he gets to the most recent gloss on the tale—what a fucking chump he was as along. “I fell for it all. Rey, I couldn’t be wholly Light—I never wanted to be a Jedi anyway—and at that point, I might as well be Dark. So, I embraced it. I fully embraced the character of Kylo Ren who Snoke created to become his new Vader. I thought it was my best option.” 

Going Dark seemed absurdly rational at the time. Fear makes a lot bad decisions seem good, he realizes now.

Rey is still processing what he has told her. She frowns at him. “Plagueis thinks like you do. He wants to make Luke the villain for denying the Dark Side within himself.”

“That was just one of Luke’s two mistakes.”

Rey looks up sharply. “What was the other?”

“Attempting to change the future. The Cosmic Force always gets its way. Remember that.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying that you were always fated to become Kylo Ren? That you had no choice in the matter?”

“Yes.” She shoots him an irked look, but he presses his case. “Don’t you see? In trying to kill me to change the future, Luke made it come true. You can’t change destiny. You affirm it with your actions.” Free will doesn’t fight against fate, it enacts fate. “I made a lot of decisions before that day and after that day, but the course of events was not of my choosing.” He firmly believes this. He acted and reacted against the will of the Force, but nothing he could do would ever stop it. “Stop presupposing a moral choice in the matter because none of it was intentional.”

Rey suddenly looks spooked. “So . . . you’re saying all Force visions come true?”

“Yes.” 

“But that was just one example . . . ”

Does she need another? “Long ago, when Luke was training with Yoda, he saw a vision of his future. He saw Darth Vader advance on him. Luke lit his sword and they fought. In the vision, he decapitated Vader. The head and mask rolled away, and the mask broke open. Inside, Luke said he saw his own face staring back at him.”

Rey nods slowly. “That sounds right. He did fear becoming Vader.”

“Yes, but it was a fate he could not escape!” Is she getting this?? “The Dark Side was strong in my uncle, like in his father before him. Like it is in every Chosen One.”

“You’re saying Luke’s vision was always going to come true?”

“Yes. Luke took the vision to mean he could defeat the Darkness within. That he would triumph in the end—he was wrong! He didn’t! The Darkness in him won that night at the Temple decades later and I bore the consequences.”

“Along with the galaxy,” she finishes glumly. And that comment more than anything tells him that Rey understands the stakes. Because when the Skywalkers fight each other, historically it means civil war.

“That vision showed my uncle that he would one day become like his father. It showed him that killing Darkness would require killing himself.” Searching her eyes, Kylo pleads, “Heed my words when I tell you not to attempt to change what you see in a Force vision.”

She looks away, shifts her weight, and mutters, “Too late.”

Oh no. “Tell me!” he rasps with true alarm.

She tells him about a vision she had on Endor in the remains of the second Death Star. How she was confronted with a Darker version of herself. Aggressive and hateful with a red sword and black, hooded robes, the woman in the vision was everything Rey ever feared she might become had she accepted his offer in Snoke’s throne room. It’s clear she saw that vision and felt justified for making the right decision. The vision would later bolster her resolve to resist Darth Sidious on Exogol. 

But now the implications of that vision scare her. “So you’re telling me I will go Dark and I can’t avoid it?” Rey sounds a little shrill at the thought. “Was that my version of Luke’s vision with Vader?”

He hedges. “Perhaps it was showing you the Dark Side inherent within you.”

“Ben, she was terrifying . . .”

“You can be a little scary.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Really? Oh, come on. “You're definitely not like other girls.” 

She glares and he continues, “That could have been Sidious manipulating you. He did that to me a lot, I’m learning.” What he thought was the Force turned out to be Darth Sidious fucking with him. That guy was in his mind way too often.

“How will I know?” Rey frets.

“Time,” he answers. 

And now, he starts to connect the dots from his own personal struggle with his uncle to the larger story of the Skywalkers. “Can you see how this has played out? My grandfather marched into the Coruscant Jedi Temple with an army at his back. He slaughtered younglings, Padawans, and Masters alike. Then he hunted Jedi to the ends of the galaxy to exterminate them. All in order to end the Jedi Order that he blamed for the Clone Wars and for his own misfortune.”

“Everyone knows that,” Rey sighs.

Yes, but she doesn’t recognize what that history means. “The one Jedi who lived when it was all over was his own son who Vader died saving. That son, together with his twin my mother, set out to undo everything my grandfather had accomplished. That included remaking the Jedi Order. Rey, that’s not what the Force wants. The Jedi impede balance.”

“I think I see that . . . in some ways . . . ” she allows.

Encouraged, he continues. “In the end, the Force used me to teach my uncle a terrible lesson--”

“--that it is time for the Jedi to end,” Rey whispers.

“Yes!” Finally, he feels like what he’s saying is getting through. “The Force goaded Luke into action with that vision of my future. Then it humbled him. It destroyed his Temple, killed his students, and set me on a path to the Dark Side. I rather unwittingly finished what my grandfather started.”

“You're saying that was all the Force at work?” Rey is dubious.

But he is firm. “Call it fate, call it destiny, call it a wrathful god that insists on its way. But it is real! The Cosmic Force will use you as an instrument of its will, whether you like it or not. I know firsthand.”

“You're saying that the Force was with Vader in the Purge and with you that night at the Temple?”

“Absolutely. Face it, the galaxy’s Jedi hero Luke Skywalker was wrong. Rey, my uncle wasn’t all bad, but he was wrong about a great many things. He failed us all with his blind adherence to the old ways.”

Rey grumbles, “Plagueis gave me this lecture already: don’t be Luke Skywalker.”

“Please don’t,” he immediately piles on. “Rey, I don’t want that for you. Work with me and let’s find true balance. So that there will be no more temple rampages killing Jedi students.”

She objects to his words. Jumping to her feet, crossing her arms, and lifting her chin, Rey demands, “Is that a threat?”

“No,” he complains and it comes out like a whine. “It’s just that history has a way of repeating itself until we learn the lesson.”

“Oh.” She thinks this point over a moment before she responds. “I’m glad you told me about the Temple. What Luke did that night was wrong . . . I see that. And maybe you’re right and the Force doesn’t want the old Jedi Order back. But that doesn’t mean everything about their ways is wrong. Or that everything about Luke was wrong. And,” she shoots him some serious eye, “it doesn’t excuse what you became.”

Does she think he’s making excuses? He is hurt. It makes him gruffly double down. “I don’t need your forgiveness. I own who I am.”

“And who is that exactly?” she challenges, lifting one arched eyebrow.

Seriously? “Are we back to this again? Is this another ‘Ben Solo or Kylo Ren?’ discussion?” He resents her determination to reduce his character to a name. “The point is that it’s complicated. No one like us will ever be all Light or all Dark, and neither will the Force. Both the Jedi creed and the Sith religion were wrong in their insistence on extremes.”

Feeling exasperated, he complains, “Didn’t you ever wonder about the purpose of the bond? About why the Force bridged our minds and kept bringing us together?”

“I guess I believed Snoke when he said he did it,” she answers.

“Do you still believe him? Because Snoke himself was a deception. Most everything he said or did was an attempt to mislead on behalf of Darth Sidious.”

She falters. “I guess you’re right.”

Since he’s already divulged uncomfortable truths this morning, he plunges headlong forward revealing more. “I thought the bond was a sign. Again, the Force was nudging me towards its aims.”

Her eyes narrow. “What are you saying exactly?”

“That the Force wants us to unite. So much so that it stepped in to connect us time and time again. From across the galaxy and from opposite sides of a war, however inconvenient and awkward, it bonded us. Rey, our dyad was extraordinary.”

This, at least, they agree upon. Rey whispers back, “It was extraordinary.”

“It was the Force! Once more, fate was intervening to direct my life. You were my destiny,” he blurts out. And fuck, he can feel his cheeks flame.

She turns away and paces a few steps. “That’s all done now.” 

He can’t tell if she’s referring to the lapsed bond or to their shot at a relationship. But either way, he rejects her view. “No, it’s not! The Force didn’t send me back to the living without a purpose.”

“To balance the Force,” she supplies their mutual goal.

“Yes. Plagueis is good but he can only do what the Force will allow. All his sorcery notwithstanding, there has to be a purpose to the Force granting his wish.” Kylo firmly believes that he didn’t get this second chance for nothing. Vader didn’t come back. Luke’s still gone. His mother too. But he’s here. There has to be a reason.

“The Force is with you?” Rey guesses. 

“With us,” he corrects. “The Force will be with us always, for better or for worse. That’s what it means to be a favorite of the Force. We make decisions that shape the future but we are also instruments of its will.”

“Did Snoke teach you this? Because Luke didn’t—“

“I have lived this!” he grinds out. Did she not just hear his testimony? Or is it all simply too inconsistent with her view that an individuals’ moral choices define history? All that ‘choose your side’ and ‘choose your path’ Jedi fearmongering is too simplistic for people like them. 

To her credit, Rey is trying to understand. “So when I turned you down in Snoke’s throne room—“

“That was free will pushing back against fate. The Force controls your actions but it also obeys your commands. It’s the all-powerful mystical energy field that decides your destiny but lets you choose. That tension is like the tension between Light and Dark,” he asserts. “The Force is full of inherent conflict.”

“But it let me turn you down.”

“Yes. It lets us make mistakes.”

“That wasn’t a mistake,” she answers fast. 

“It was a mistake. The Force wants us to unite.”

“Well, I’m here,” she reminds him. 

He can’t help but be a little smug about it. “Finally, you have joined me.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. “I haven’t joined you—“

“Yes, you have,” he insists, “and you should. We are destiny.” 

Rey shoots him a look. Clearly, she wouldn’t choose him. And, truthfully, he probably wouldn’t choose her. But the point remains—they don’t get to choose. 

Rey doesn’t fit into any of the categories he assigns to women. She’s not the nurturing mother variety who alternately worries, smothers, or nags. She’s not the hot girl with femininity on conspicuous display via curves in tight clothes, long hair, and lip gloss. Neither is she the perky, eager-to-please assistant type, like so many of the female First Order officers with their shiny boots and scraped back hair. Rey is just . . . Rey. She’s altogether different. 

In fact, in many ways, she’s all wrong. He’s never been into brunettes. And while Rey’s less sinewy than when he first met her, it’s not by much. Even with regular meals, she’s skinny and flat chested. Back in his Padawan days facing a life of noble celibacy, when he pictured the girl he would break his Jedi vows for, she was the stereotypical sex bomb every teenage boy covets. Frankly, if there was ever a girl for whom he would kill his Sith Master as a prelude to offering to co-rule the galaxy, she ought to be a total knockout. One part powerful Force goddess, one part high minded Light Side princess, and one part easygoing girlfriend who won’t hog the limelight. The type who will stand by her Supreme Leader man and call him ‘His Excellency’ in formal public settings. The sort of girl who will give wise counsel and unflagging support behind the scenes. 

But instead, he falls for Rey. She’s a knockout quite literally because this girl can throw a punch and a Force push. Truthfully, he has a sneaking suspicion that she might be stronger in the Force than he is, and he's not sure how he feels about that. Rey will never address him with an honorific and he doubts she has any idea how to comport herself as an Empress. For starters, she might have to shave her legs and paint on lipstick. Moreover, Rey will never recede into the background hovering over the right shoulder of his throne. Nor will she ever agree to elegantly parade at his side holding his hand. Not that any of that matters at this point. But if it ever did . . . well, she’d be totally unsuitable. But still . . . prickly personality, nonexistent education, dirty boots and all, he’s crazy about this girl. When she isn’t trying to kill him, that is. 

And right now, she sort of looks like she might like to kill him. So much for that ‘we are destiny’ line. Or any line, for that matter. He’s probably talked more in the last two days than in the entire month before he died at Exogol. But all those words—all that truth—hasn’t convinced her. So, mindful of old Plagueis’ advice on how to conduct his next ‘Join me’ overture, he decides to kiss Rey.

  
  
He lunges two limping strides forward as his hands reach down for her face to upturn it. Then with a boldness he hopes would impress his Dark Side forebears, he kisses his startled enemy full on the lips.

  
  
It’s a brief, soft salute. A means to get her attention and to make clear his intentions. Because this is about the Force and Darth Sidious but also so much more. He knows he’s risking Rey igniting her sword—which is really his sword—so he will keep things respectful and non-threatening. He’s not mauling her or raping her, for Force sake. He just wants to make his pitch a little differently this time. Because now he’s not offering an empire, he’s offering himself.

  
  
He pulls back and drops his hands immediately. Is she offended? He can’t tell. Her feelings are as transparent as usual, except they’re a mess of confusion in the moment. She’s not caught entirely unaware that this might happen. Part of Rey is thrilled, he thinks. The rest is terribly uncomfortable. But he can’t tell if that’s because she didn’t enjoy it or because she thinks she shouldn’t have enjoyed it. 

  
  
“We are destiny . . .” Rey repeats his words back to him breathlessly, her eyes locked with his. “I thought that once and sometimes . . . I . . .”

  
  
“You kissed me. Right before I died,” he reminds her. He’d never have worked up the nerve to kiss her now had he not known she made the first move. 

“Y-Yes. I did.”

  
  
“I don’t remember it.”

  
  
“You don’t?” she squeaks. “Then how did you know—“

  
  
“The Force.” Well, mostly Darth Plagueis reading his mind with the Force. But he’s not going to let that detail get in the way of his romantic ‘we are destiny’ argument. Still holding her gaze, hopeful rather than cocky, he asks, “What’s a guy got to do to get another kiss?”

  
  
“D-Die, I guess?” she stammers, her artless words ending on an upward inflection like a question.

  
  
“I’m not waiting that long,” he replies. And because she’s not marching away or pulling her sword, he hazards another kiss. Chastity be damned, he’s not a Jedi and neither will she be if he has anything to say about it. So this next kiss is of the torrid variety. She’s in his arms held close, head bent back as he takes liberties he has fantasized about. 

  
  
Is he doing this right? He doesn’t know. The only women he has kissed were relatives. But if this is wrong, he will gladly take instruction because this is his new favorite pastime. If the Force were to smite him down just now, he would die a happy man.

Rey is stiff at first but she fast becomes an active participant. Her arms snake up to encircle his neck and soon she’s on tiptoe stretched against him. That’s all the encouragement he needs as his hands grip her waist. His tongue is in her mouth now and her slight breasts crush against his chest. This is everything he had been warned not to do at the Jedi Academy, and for good reason. For in this moment, he wants more. He’s certain Rey does as well. 

He and Rey have been volatile from the beginning, repeatedly provoking one another to violence and anger. But there is a begrudging mutual respect between them as well. And always, a subtext of attraction. Sparks of conflict but sparks of lust, kindled by the bond but dampened by mistrust. But here they are entwined in a passionate kiss that feels as never ending as it does inevitable. This is destiny and the Force is with them. 

But, unfortunately, Darth Plagueis the Wise is with them too. He marches in to interrupt. The smug bastard doesn’t even bother to hide his grin. 

He and Rey spring back from one another guiltily. 

“Do I detect a disturbance in the Force?” Plagueis smirks. “Who’s dying this time—her or you?”

This is way worse than when his uncle caught them touching hands. Beside him, Rey’s mortification is screaming out in the Force. For his part, Kylo is mad. He glares hard at the interloper who just ruined their big moment. “Go away.”

Plagueis merely chuckles. “Oh, don’t stop on my account. Carry on, carry on. But then please balance the Force. Kissing might be fun but it won’t save the galaxy.”

“Go away,” he growls again.

But Darth Sidious is enjoying himself. “Apprentice, when I told you to teach her a few things, this is not what I had in mind. Or maybe she’s the one teaching you?”

Now, it’s his turn to be mortified. Because when Plagueis read his mind, did he learn that he’s got zero experience with women? “Go away,” humiliated Kylo growls with true menace.

The old Sith Master is amused by the repeated attempt at a dismissal. “I’m going. If I linger much longer, there’s no telling what I’ll see.” But to belie his words, Plagueis tarries. “So if she’ll kiss you now, does that mean she’ll heal you? I tire of seeing you limp around.”

“I’m not healing him,” Rey answers. 

“Stubborn as always,” Plagueis issues a weary sigh and offers some advice. “Lord Ren, focus on getting her to heal you rather than go to bed with you. Get her to put out with power rather than . . . er . . . other things. Priorities,” he chides. “Every good Sith knows the lust for power trumps the lust for sex.”

“Go away.” Can this guy not take a hint? Three’s a crowd.

“I’m going, I’m going. I can’t wait to tell Sheev about this.”

Rey reacts first. “You talk to Darth Sidious?” 

“Oh, yes. I’ve been trolling him in the Force for decades now off and on. It’s fun,” Plagueis declares with a downright impish grin. 

“Fun . . . ” Rey echoes warily as she exchanges looks with him.

“It’s a good outlet for my Darkness and he’s a worthy adversary,” their host explains. “Don’t get on my bad side. I am relentless,” he promises. His eyes flash yellow momentarily, but Kylo catches it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have written different versions of what happened at the Jedi Temple. For example, Son of Darkness has Luke killing his students until he gets to Kylo--who the Force awakens in time to save himself and save the remaining others. This Epilogue version is taken almost entirely from The Searchers, and I think it pretty well meshes with the canon material and most of my other stories. The idea of Ben Solo meeting Snoke beforehand and being sent home to Luke has persisted off and on in my stories since Fulcrum. The concept that 'Darkness is a choice' permeates all the Fulcrum stories but I have moved away from that theme in later tales. Now, it's more 'Darkness is a fact that will not be denied.' I'm all about balance these days.


	9. chapter 9

Rey doesn’t know what to make of those kisses with Ben. So, she decides the best course of action is to pretend it never happened. She won’t say anything unless he says something. Maybe that’s immature, but she worries Ben will make assumptions now. And so, deeply wary of a ‘Join me’ ambush when they next meet, Rey presents herself for training with a firm let’s-get-down-to-business attitude.

Ben seems a bit taken aback at first. After an awkward minute or two, he starts teaching like usual. Things are fairly normal. Like nothing ever happened.

She’s actually a little disappointed.

They are back to talking about the Force for hours on end when approaching ion engines sound overhead. They move to the window to look up at the descending ship.

“That must be Vanee back from Coruscant,” Rey speculates, recognizing Plagueis’ posh cruiser.

Sure enough, the creepy servant has returned and he’s not alone. Down the ramp walks a woman leaning heavily on a cane.

“Who’s that?” Ben wonders aloud.

“More old people,” she sighs. 

Plagueis now sweeps in with his other acolyte bringing up the rear. “It’s here,” the Sith Master intones with relish. 

“What’s here?” Rey asks.

“My new painting.”

Sure enough, two floating crates accompany the approaching pair. As the duo plods into the villa, the woman is revealed to be ancient. Twenty years or more General Leia’s age, Rey estimates. But if anything, this newest guest puts Ben’s princess mother to shame with her beautiful pale blue gown that even to Rey’s unsophisticated eye looks expensive and chic. The woman has white hair coiled in a chignon at her neck. All the better to see the display of jewelry at her ears and throat. It’s big stuff that looks like it costs a zillion credits. Whoever this grand dame is, she’s loaded.

The woman enters laughing softly at something smiling Vanee has said. She pauses on the threshold of the living room and beams across at old Darth Plagueis. “Snoke.”

Snoke?! Rey exchanges glances with Ben.

“My Lady.” Plagueis executes a surprisingly suave bow from the waist. Like he’s just been presented to a queen. He’s grinning ear to missing ear.

Rey and Ben exchange glances again.

“It’s been too long since you haunted me,” the old woman smiles up at Darth Plagueis as she slowly canes her way over.

“May I?” Plagueis asks, offering open arms.

“Oh, stop,” the woman dismisses his formality as she walks into his embrace. When she pulls back from his bear hug, she grins up at the Sith Master. “Have you gotten taller, or I am shrinking? Because I don’t remember you being this tall. And I miss your yellow eyes.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Nonsense! I’m so old now. Soon, I’ll be dead—“

“I can fix that.”

“Don’t you dare! I’ve earned a good death.”

“You almost had one a few months ago.” It’s rather pointed comment.

“Yes, well, I’m still alive.”

“That was very, very foolish,” old Plagueis rumbles. He looks sincerely angered.

But the old woman waves him off. “Yes, it was. But I have a score to settle with Darth Sidious.”

“So does everyone in this room.”

“Yes, yes . . . my Lord, Vanee told me everything on the way here. I’m all caught up.” The old woman makes her way towards Ben now. “Is this him?” She looks Ben up and down, squinting at him. “It must be. Look at all that Skywalker hair.” She sees the splinted leg. “Is he hurt? Oh, he looks hurt. Vanee, you never said he was hurt--”

“He’s fine,” Plagueis announces, sounding annoyed. Rey ignores the glare he shoots her direction.

For his part, Ben regards the strange woman coldly as he endures her inspection.

“You favor him. I see it . . . broad shoulders and long legs. Your mother and her twin took after their mother, but you look like him. That’s his glower. I remember it well,” the old lady sighs happily.

“He pouts, too. Just like Lord Vader,” Vanee volunteers.

Ben glowers some more.

“Forget all that, he has his Force. That’s all that matters,” Plagueis decrees.

“No, it’s not,” the old woman objects softly. “Luke had his Force. But alas, none of his heart and his vision.” She peers closer at Ben now. Her wrinkled features split into a wide smile. “Oh,” she gushes, “he would be so proud of you. If only he had lived to teach you himself. Snoke—“

Rey is not letting that name slide a second time without comment. “Snoke?” she challenges hotly, her eyes drilling into Plagueis. “Snoke??”

“It’s a nickname I used,” the Sith shrugs. “My old Apprentice knew of it.”

The old woman issues a delicate ladylike snort. “Lord Sidious must have thought himself very clever to create that caricature of you. As if anyone would believe that was actually you,” she sniffs. “The gold bathrobe was taking it way too far . . . he made you look like a weeknight lounge act at Canto Bight.”

“Indeed.” Plagueis shudders. “Now then, introductions are in order.”

“Uhhmmmm, yes . . .” the old woman agrees as her eyes alight on Rey for the first time. “I know you. I saw you on the holonet.” The old woman looks back to their host with concern. “Snoke, what is she doing—"

“She is my guest.”

Pursing her lips at Rey and then back at Snoke, the aristocratic grand dame surmises, “You’ve been meddling?”

Plagueis is slyly unrepentant. “Of course.”

“Well, it’s about time.” The woman appraises Rey coolly before she lifts her chin and disdains, “I had hoped never to meet another Jedi.” 

Rey instantly takes the old rich bitch into extreme dislike.

“Astral, she is my daughter,” Plagueis reveals.

“Oh dear,” the woman reacts. “Well, how extraordinary. There must be a story there.”

“There is. I will tell you.”

“Who are you?” Rey demands, tired of all this mystery.

“Oh, where are my manners? Forgive a senile old lady. I am Astral Sidhu.”

“Professor Emeritus and Chair of the Fine Arts Department at Coruscant University,” Vanee volunteers.

“No one here cares about that. Tell them who you really are,” Plagueis instructs impatiently.

The woman’s answer causes Rey’s jaw to drop. “I’m the widow of Anakin Skywalker.”

At her side, Ben says nothing, but she can sense him tense.

“Really . . . use the title,” Plagueis grumbles. “She’s Lady Vader,” he announces proudly to her and Ben.

“My grandmother died when my mother and uncle were born,” Ben speaks up. “At least, that’s what I was told . . .” His experience with his secret grandfather must have him wary of other omissions to his family tree.

“I was Lord Vader’s second wife,” the old woman explains. Her features soften as tells her step-grandson, “He mourned your grandmother for years . . . blamed himself for his Master killing her. In the end, I was a poor substitute for Padme Amidala.”

“Nonsense,” Plagueis objects. “Anyone could see those two were heading for a split. My son was clearly not thinking with his head when he married that one. Force deliver this family from any more sanctimonious young women,” he exclaims with an annoying wink Rey’s direction.

Ben says nothing. Clearly the existence of this long-lost relative is news to him. Rey knows he has listened for hours to Vanee’s old stories, but apparently the longtime servant omitted the best one.

But further explanations are deferred because Darth Plagueis is ready to move on. “Where is my painting? Open it up. Let’s see!” The Sith Master is practically clapping his hands with excitement like a child ready to unwrap presents on Life Day.

Lady Vader pokes at the controls of the largest floating crate that followed her in. It unlocks to reveal a small painting that is very disproportionate to the size of its protective packaging. Plagueis goes in for a better look, blocking everyone’s view. The only impression Rey gets is that it’s orange and unremarkable. 

“Isn’t it small?” Ben is similarly unimpressed.

“You don’t price art by the square foot,” Plagueis sniffs. He turns to Lady Vader to make excuses for Ben. “Forgive the boy’s ignorance. He’s very uncultured. He was raised by Luke Skywalker.”

Lady Vader shoots Ben a sympathetic glance and murmurs, “Poor boy . . .”

They all dutifully admire the painting which is temporarily placed on a high mantle. Then, Plagueis demands of Vanee, “Where are the clothes?” Gesturing to Ben, he complains, “He’s been in pajamas long enough. It’s like having an unkept, lazy teenager around the house.”

That comment prompts old Lady Vader to sigh and reminisce. “Oh, that’s very Vader of him.” She gushes to Ben, “Your grandfather wore either full armor or pajamas. So little in his life was comfortable. It’s why he hated people coming inside his castle. They might see him without the mask in his lounge clothes.” 

Rey digests this reveal without enthusiasm. As far as she’s concerned, that’s way too much information about Darth Vader’s personal habits.

The old woman now starts pulling items from the second crate. Shaking out the garments, she happily explains, “I went with black because well . . . you know . . . Dark prince and all. There’s a cape, of course. No coats or ponchos for Lord Vader’s grandson,” she harrumphs.

Heretofore quiet Milo chimes in his stern agreement. “Poncho says follower. Cape says leader.” Because apparently among the Sith, the wrong choice of outerwear is indicative of a character fault.

Ben smirks. “Poncho says Luke Skywalker.”

“You just proved her point,” Darth Plagueis chuckles.

Ben is dispatched to put on his new clothes and boots that Lady Vader assures him will fit since Vanee scanned him for sizing. Then, Astral plucks out more garments from the crate and turns to her. “For you, young lady.” She offers over a fancy dress bag on a hangar. Rey can’t see what’s inside, but she’s already nervous. Lady Vader is clearly concerned as well. “It might not be to your taste,” she hedges.

Plagueis intervenes. “Impossible. You have the best taste in the galaxy.” 

Old Lady Vader rolls her eyes indulgently. “You flatter me and it works every time,” she laughs. 

“That’s why I keep doing it,” Plagueis is gleefully sly.

“Well, when Vanee said I was to dress a young woman who had come to help Kylo Ren recuperate . . . that she was here to lift his spirits . . . well, I naturally assumed that it meant she and the Supreme Leader were . . . uh . . . close friends . . .”

Ugh. The woman thinks she’s Kylo Ren’s girlfriend. “I’m not his girlfriend,” Rey nearly growls.

Plagueis is amused by her quick response. “That’s not what it looked like in here yesterday—”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Rey announces, her hard eyes daring anyone to argue further to the contrary.

Lady Vader is smooth about her mistake. “Forgive my misperception, for clearly I was in error. A Jedi would never be any man’s girlfriend. Please accept my apologies at the implication.” The words are graciously said, but Rey is still determined to hate her. The second Mrs. Vader continues, “But since I believed you were a couple and he is the Supreme Leader—"

“Was the Supreme Leader,” Rey corrects acidly.

“--I figured there were appearances to uphold and a certain gravitas to convey.”

The leadup of caveats has Darth Plagueis intrigued. “Astral, whatever did you buy?”

“It’s a dress. Something appropriate for the ingenue Empress or consort or—"

“Supreme Leaderette,” the Sith deadpans.

“I was aiming for something appropriate for a young lady in public life.” With a frantic look of apology Rey’s direction, Lady Vader blurts out, “It’s pink.”

“Pink?” Pink??

“Dark pink . . . a very dark pink that doesn’t look pink at all . . . more like a mauve,” Lady Vader keeps improvising. “Think of it as a light reddish purple . . .”

Beside her, Plagueis begins guffawing. 

“What?” the old woman reacts. “Pink is a universally flattering shade and you know how I feel about color theory, Snoke—"

His lips still twitching, the ugly Muun chortles, “No Jedi ever has worn a pink dress. This I have to see. Run along and try it on, Rey. I tire of seeing you in rags.”

She resists. “I like my own clothes just fine.”

Plagueis digs in. “We have a guest for dinner. You will make yourself presentable.”

“I eat dinner on my ship.”

“Not tonight.”

“What I’m wearing is fine.”

Lady Vader raises eyebrows at the brewing dispute. She inserts herself. “Yes, well, I’m sure what you’re wearing is very practical, but do at least try the dress on. I suspect you will look lovely. And tonight is a party.”

Ben reappears now looking dashing and very expensive. Like he’s about to address the galaxy as the Supreme Leader. He looks from her to Plagueis, sensing the conflict. “What did I miss?”

“Look at you!” Ben’s step-grandmother beams with pride. “Oh, very nice. Let me just . . .” Lady Vader approaches Ben to tug at one sleeve before she resettles his cape. “There. Much better. Those are powerful shoulders, like your grandfather,” she approves as she steps back. “Under that suit, he looked like a superhero,” the old woman sighs. She’s back to fussing over her grandson now. “This cape has a satin trim, just like his. And I made sure there was a belt since you carry a sword. Where’s your sword? Let’s see the whole look.”

“My sword is in an ocean on Endor.”

“Oh.” Lady Vader takes that explanation without question. “Too bad. I liked that cross guard sword . . . so distinctive. Well, no matter, I’m sure you can make another one.” She turns back to Rey now. “Would you like me to help you into that dress?” It’s a not-so-subtle hint.

Everyone in the room looks at her expectantly.

“Oh, very well,” Rey grumbles. She will humor these people. She wanders down the hallway to the refresher to try on the dress. It’s an easy enough task. But she gets stuck there, staring at herself in the mirror feeling very uncomfortable. The dress feels like a costume that belongs to a version of her who said yes in Snoke’s throne room. Like the woman who would happily stand next to Ben dressed like he is now at some formal occasion.

After a few minutes, there is a discrete knock on the door. It’s that annoying old lady who is the reason for the pink dress. “Rey, do you need a zip?”

No, she doesn’t need a zip. She zipped the dress with the Force. The zipper isn’t the problem. None of the mechanics of trying on the dress are the issue. “I’m not coming out.” Even to her own ears, the comment sounds childish.

“Did it not fit? Vanee said you he took a covert scan and usually that means it’s at least close—"

“I’m not coming out.”

But eventually, she comes out. Rey presents herself for inspection. She stands fidgeting with eyes averted and cheeks the color of the dress.

“That’s pink. That’s not mauve, it’s definitely pink.” The servant Milo turns out to be a veritable font of sartorial opinions Rey wishes he would keep to himself.

But Lady Vader is an enthusiastic proponent. “How beautiful you look!”

“And how uncomfortable,” Ben observes. He’s enjoying this moment, she can tell. “Twirl for us?” he smirks.

She shoots him a look so cold it would freeze water on hot Jakku.

“It needs a nice lipstick,” Lady Vader suggests. “At your age and with that complexion, you should keep it fresh faced but with a lipstick.”

Lipstick? Not a chance. Rey floofs the skirt that swirls around her ankles. “I can’t fight in this . . . “

“Are we fighting? I thought we were having dinner,” Plagueis drawls.

Rey complains some more. “There’s no place to hook a sword.”

Lady Vader frowns. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes.” She learned long ago on Jakku always to keep a weapon on her person. In fact, she’s holding the repaired Skywalker sword right now since she has no place to put it. 

“Can’t he hold your sword for you?” Lady Vader gestures to Ben.

Ben snorts. “I’m the one she’s likely to be slaying.”

Lady Vader frowns harder now. “I guess she really isn’t your girlfriend. Oh, well. Slay with the dress, not with the sword,” she coaches Rey. The woman clearly has very different priorities than she does. Cocking her head and giving her yet another critical look, Lady Vader muses, “You know, she looks a bit like your grandmother . . .” to Ben.

“You know, you’re right,” Plagueis agrees. “I don’t know why I never saw it before. Must have been the rags and the goofy hair. Hard to see past all that,” he grumbles.

Lady Vader now decrees, “Rey, you look lovely. Lord Vader would approve. He liked women fancy. He was a long hair, long dress sort of man.”

Rey shoots the woman a look. “You’re kidding me.”

But she is sincere. “He always put women on a pedestal. And he liked them to look like they belonged on a pedestal,” the old lady recalls. She sighs. “Those were different times . . .”

“Indeed,” Milo laments and all the old people nod in unison.

What follows is a wretched dinner-party-and-family-reunion that Rey must endure for hours. Everything about the evening makes her uncomfortable. The fancy dress befitting an Empress not an orphan from Jakku . . . the intimidating table place setting with multiple forks and three wine glasses . . . the sophisticated conversation that lurches between talk of art and opera and memories of people who died decades before she was born. The politics is decidedly fascist, the Force is firmly Dark, and the humor is sarcastic. Rey could not be more of an outsider. It brings all of her insecurities to the forefront. 

She’s stared down everyone from rival scavengers to Darth Sidious himself. But outside of those contexts of conflict and violence, she loses her badass moxy fast. Confidence is highly situational, she’s learning. Sure, she knows how to handle herself at the Nima Outpost and at Maz’s tavern on Takodana. But somehow Darth Plagueis’ dining room feels way out of her league. So she pushes the food around her plate and ignores the wine, trying to copy what the others are doing while she watches and listens. 

Snoke is shockingly charming as he holds court at the head of the table with an easy bonhomie. Milo is his straight man crony and Vanee offers chuckles, concurring nods, and knee slaps on cue. Lady Vader is alternately wistful and gently tart. She has an old lady’s candor that’s more endearing than sharp. It’s clear Plagueis and his servants adore the woman. Ben is fascinated by her, although he asks very few questions. Skeptical Rey resolves to withhold her opinion.

She sits miserable for hours. Forced to listen to Darth Plagueis describe how he currently pretends to be someone called Mother Talzin as he trolls Darth Sidious. Then Plagueis floats the idea that he’s considering dropping the title Darth for something more modern and what does everyone think about that? Rey learns that Lady Vader answered the Resistance call to fight in the citizen armada at Exogol. And maybe that helps Rey like her a little. Apparently, long ago Darth Vader taught his wife to fly. She and Ben discuss spin moves at length while Rey feigns interest. 

It’s a wide-ranging conversation that keeps circling back to the persistent theme of the Skywalkers. The dinner fills in parts of a family saga Rey mostly already knows. It’s the tale of a Sith Lord whose Dark hubris ultimately brought about the seeds of his own destruction when his quest to create life conceived a child of the Force born to be the Chosen One. Fear of that unknown child’s potential brought about all sorts of suffering that spanned the galaxy and spanned generations. From Plagueis’ own violent comeuppance at the hands of his pupil, to an initial Apprentice Darth Sidious mistakenly trained and then discarded. From the Skywalker twins separated and hidden at birth only to encounter each other and their secret father unknowingly, to Darth Sidious’ quest for immortality so he could survive the uprising he long anticipated from the down-but-not-out Darth Vader. Ben’s own plight is part of the fallout. So is her very existence. 

Plagueis’ quest for power started a civil war and then toppled the Old Republic and destroyed the Jedi Order. During his exile, there was yet another civil war. And now again, yet another. It’s the Force at war with itself through the feuding Skywalkers and their enduring antagonist Darth Sidious. Sidious beat the patriarch, enslaved the son, fought the twin grandchildren, and enslaved the great-grandchild via Snoke. When Rey herself showed up on the scene, Sidious recognized exactly who she was and how he could use her. For Rey knows now she was right to call herself a Skywalker back on Tatooine. Like it or not, she has been pulled into their conflict as the alternative Chosen One. 

Forlorn Rey looks across at Ben hanging on Lady Vader’s every word as she speaks of her dead husband’s persistence at subverting his hated Master. The Force tells Rey it’s all true, but it’s not the story the history books tell. So little of the complete story is known by the public. And that’s a shame. People should know that the conflicts in play are as personal as they are political and philosophical. For the Force wielding demigods raging among them chart history as much by their own biases as by principles. And now, Rey herself is a conscripted member of their pantheon.

It’s a lot to take in. Especially when she has to listen to some old lady cast Darth Vader in the role of tragic hero. The woman’s from Alderaan, which makes it even more bizarre. Pensive Rey decides she has heard enough. At the earliest possible moment, she murmurs an excuse and heads for the _Falcon_. Casting a last glance over her shoulder as she exits, Rey catches Ben’s pouting frown. He looks hurt, like he did this morning.

Whatever. She’s done with this Vader lovefest history lesson. These people might call themselves her family, but Rey’s not sure she wants to claim them.

On her way out, Rey makes sure to nab her own clothes. Five minutes later, she’s back to looking like her usual self, curled up with a datapad reading the newsfeeds, trying to relax on her own. She’s alone . . . always alone. Solitude is her comfort zone, even if it is her longtime nemesis. Too much of it hurts. Too little of it makes her anxious. Rey has a love-hate relationship with loneliness.

She knows she’s not the only one who craves something that hurts. Why do we want things that we know are bad for us? Why does the diabetic reach for a cookie? The drunk reach for a beer? The addict lunge for more spice? What’s missing in her and others that they go seeking it elsewhere in poor substitutes that only foster self-destruction? Why can’t we say out loud to another, or at least inwardly to ourselves, what we truly desire? Why is it so much easier to admit that you have a problem than it is to acknowledge the cure?

Rey knows her cure: she needs love. Whatever her past truly is—however she came to be orphaned and alone on Jakku—she needs love. Desperately. She wants someone to care for who will care for her in return. Someone who will do it with enough zeal to overcome her skittishness and fear. It’s secretly why she liked the bond. Ben was pretty much inescapable then, and she likewise for him. No matter how she acted or what she did, he was always coming back. It made him the closest thing she had to family since family also has to accept your faults and stick around. Rey would never admit it, but the knowledge that Ben would always be there in the bond was a constancy that went a long way to balming her abandonment issues. 

Ben was her guilty secret that only Luke knew. She never confided the bond to General Leia or to Finn, Rose, or Poe. There were many good reasons for that decision, even after Ben died on Exogol. But now, Rey wonders if is a statement on how arm’s length she keeps her Resistance friends. She trusts them, but not enough. Trust will always be her problem, she fears. 

And there’s the rub: she wants love but she cannot trust. And so, when it is offered to her, her knee jerk reaction is to reject it. _Everything_. Ben said he had—is—offering her everything. _Everything_. She doesn’t dare take it, but she wants to. He kisses her and says they are destiny. She half believes him. So why is she rejecting him? Why did she pretend those kisses never happened? Why does she need to keep her distance? Is it fear? Not enough self-worth? Risk aversion? Maybe all of the above? Well, for whatever reason, here she is hiding on the _Falcon_ where she feels safely separate, but comfortingly close, to all that tempts her. 

She’s not surprised when an hour later, Ben marches up the ramp of the _Falcon_ in search of her. She watches as his eyes slowly canvas their surroundings, taking in the faded, patched together, ramshackle mess that is the aging freighter’s main lounge area. Ben visibly swallows. Clearly, this setting is bringing up old ghosts. And so, of course, his opening line is nasty. “It looks worse than I remember.”

“It sat in the desert for years.”

“I wondered where all the sand came from.” He pokes at a long, gritty smear of it that’s underfoot. “I hate sand.”

His eyes find the beautiful pink dress carefully hung on a hanger off a random knob. Is he going to make another crack about the dress? He doesn’t. Instead, Ben gets at another, even more sensitive topic. “When you left, I was half expecting to hear you fire up the engines and take off . . .” he observes offhand with a casualness neither of them believes.

She comes clean. “I’ll admit, I was tempted.”

“You were tempted a lot,” he accuses softly . . . truthfully. “Why do you do this? Why do you pull back from people?”

“Those are a bunch of old people. Old people talking about dead people,” she grumbles.

He raises his eyebrows. “You do know that’s what most every family gathering is like, right?”

Actually, she doesn’t. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a family.”

“Fine. But if you want people in your life, you shouldn’t push people away.” 

“I don’t push—"

“You do. Are you like this at the Resistance too? With your new friends?”

“No. Well . . . I don’t know.” She bites her lip, thinking of all the unanswered messages from Finn and Poe piling up in her inbox.

“Do you not want people in your life?”

“Of course, I want people--”

“Because I don’t want people.”

Oh. She squints up at him in confusion. “You don’t?”

“No. Not really. Maybe just a few . . . not too many. But you,” he accuses, “you take that to an extreme.” 

“Does that surprise you?”

“It disappoints me. I want better for you.”

Rey doesn’t know what to say to that comment. She just looks away. His pity feels humiliating even if it’s sincere.

Ben doesn’t let up. “I saw how lonely you were on Jakku. Rey, I remember.”

“Back then, I wanted a family.”

He points out, “Plagueis is offering that.”

Hardly. “These people have an agenda. I don’t trust them. They aren’t safe!”

“What about me?” Ben asks with disarming gentleness. “We were bonded once.”

Her heart skips a bit. Because is this a prelude to another ‘Join me’ speech? She shifts in her seat and stammers, “You’re . . . you’re . . .” 

He waits.

She blinks, searching for what to say.

When she hesitates too long and he goads her, “Kylo Ren? I’m too Kylo Ren, is that it?”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s not it.” Ben is far too dangerous, and not just because of his politics or his Force. He’s entirely too seductive in ways she doesn’t like to acknowledge. It had been easy to turn down his offer to rule, just like it had been easy to turn down Palpatine’s offer of unlimited power. But what Ben’s offering now—friendship with kisses and maybe everything or anything else—is tempting. In some ways, it’s far more threatening than power. It’s also very problematic. And she’s enough of a survivor to know not to take foolish risks, even if those risks have dark eyes, pouty lips, and wild hair that she longs to sink her fingers into. 

He’s looking at her expectantly. She needs to say something. But what? “You’re . . . you’re . . .”

He is frustrated by her inability to find words. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are resigned as he raises hands in defeat and grinds out, “Okay, I get it. You want to be alone. I guess that’s what you’re best at,” he snaps.

This, at least, is dynamic she knows how to handle. Conflict with Ben is nothing new and it actually puts Rey more at ease. She takes his cue and it’s another one of their low-key fights as she casts aside her datapad and leaps to her feet. “Did you come to keep me company?” she asks, crossing her arms and lifting an eyebrow. “I didn’t really think this was your scene . . .” she obliquely refers to the famous ship owned by the father he murdered.

Ben understands the reference. “Does the rest look this bad?”

“Pretty much.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Han Solo never kept anything nice.” She’s expecting Ben to make a few more sneery comments and leave, but instead he starts poking around. “Does the dejarik table still work?”

“It glitches a lot.”

He nods. “Probably from Chewie pounding it. It’s not wise to upset a wookiee.”

“They might shoot you,” she goes low.

Ben says nothing. He just limps past her down the curving hallway towards the cockpit. 

Rey follows. She comes up fast but stops short. Watching as Ben stands with one hand on the pilot seat staring at the controls. He’s displayed in profile and his expression is bleak. Haunted even. Suddenly, Rey knows exactly how young Ben Solo appeared after he caused that Force shockwave at Luke’s Temple. 

Well, he should be upset here in the _Falcon_. He murdered his own father. Seeing Ben confronted with Han Solo’s beloved ship should feel a bit like justice. But truthfully, Rey has a hard time with the sympathy this moment arises. Why does Ben elicit such instinctive compassion from her? She can’t explain it. But just like on Ahch-To when she went straight to the Dark, she is drawn in time and time again by this fallen Jedi. 

She can see now all the promise Luke and Leia must have perceived long ago. No wonder they were frustrated with the lackluster Skywalker Padawan. For Ben speaks of the Force with the reverence of a priest. He has the dedication of a scholar to its analysis and history. He also has the conviction of a born leader. What a waste that he ended up on the Dark Side commanding the lie that is the First Order. So much was lost when Snoke sunk his claws into young Ben Solo. But it’s all still there, Rey knows, buried under resentment, anger, and despair. 

Could she still reach him? She wants to try. Rey feels bad now for resisting his attempt to reach out tonight. But it rubs her the wrong way to hear she’s the one who needs advice. Ben is the one who needs help. Anyone can see that. But perhaps she was too defensive about being lonely earlier.

Ben starts poking around at the controls, noting the rewiring and rigged workarounds. “Someone put a compressor on the ignition line,” he complains.

“It’s bypassed now.”

“Good. That puts too much stress on the hyperdrive.”

“That’s exactly what Han said.”

“Did he?” Ben grunts. “I’m surprised. That’s the sort of shortcut he might take. He did a lot of work on this ship, but he was a pretty average mechanic. Chewie was constantly redoing his work.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” That’s all news to her.

He gripes, “The only thing Han Solo was good with was a gun. My uncle was a great mechanic. He was the far better pilot as well. I learned to fly and to fix things from Luke. In the end, that turned out to be the better choice, even if it wasn’t a choice . . .”

That’s the first praise Ben has ever given to Luke. Rey notes it but refrains from commenting. “Your mother said Han wasn’t around much . . . ”

“In every way that matters, Luke was my father.” Ben grimaces at the painful admission. It’s hoarsely said. His choked tone even more so than the actual words puts what happened at the Temple in a fresh light for Rey. “I guess I was the son Luke Skywalker never had . . . and the son Han Solo didn’t want . . .” 

She’s about to say something when Ben abruptly slaps hard at the back of the pilot’s seat. Then, he kicks it viciously with his good leg.

She objects. “Han loved you!”

Ben whirls to glare hard at her. “I’m sure he thought that. Like I’m sure he thought he loved my mother.”

“You didn’t need to kill him—”

“If I didn’t, someone else would have,” he jeers back. Ben’s words are unrepentant but his expressive face is full of remorse. Here again, Rey sees the conflict within this Dark prince. These flashes of vulnerability make her want to help. There is a conscience buried in him, and that means there is Light in him still.

No one will ever reach this man by challenging him, she instinctively knows. Like her, he’s ready to fight at the slightest provocation. So she drops the accusations and tells herself that what’s done is done. Han Solo is dead and Ben will have to live with that. Plus, ever since she herself stabbed Ben in the heat of anger on Endor, Rey better understands how you can lose control in the moment. Had she not been able to heal with the Force, the outcome might have been the same for Ben as for his father.

Rey now tries to make amends. She begins, “I’m sorry about earlier. You’re right--I do push people away.”

“So, it’s not just me?”

“It’s everyone,” she confesses, feeling her face flame.

He’s looking at her like she owes him an explanation. Ben does this a lot. He challenges her silence.

Flustered, she mutters the truth, “People stress me out. Especially a lot of people.”

He nods slowly. “I think I understand.”

“You do?”

“It’s all their minds. All their feelings. You’re very sensitive to others in the Force. It can make crowds overwhelming. All those minds.”

She nods. “It’s too much.”

“Tell me.”

“At the Resistance, after Exogol . . . all those happy people . . . it was overwhelming . . . ”

“Too much collective emotion?” he guesses.

“I don’t do emotions well.”

“I’ve noticed, Jedi.”

Is he teasing her? He is. But with Ben, it’s always hard to tell. “I was relieved to leave them,” she confesses. “To get away from it all.” It didn’t hurt that she was frustrated about the Resistance path forward and worried about Darth Sidious re-emerging. It meant all that energy and emotion felt misplaced. Like their euphoria was a self-delusion. 

“I can block it out if I have something to focus on. Like at Exogol in the arena . . .” She could block out all those cheering Sith acolytes and the battle above them. 

He nods. “Let me help. I can teach you to pull back from other’s minds.”

“More mental shields?”

“Of a sort. It will help. I promise.”

And there, standing in the dim, powered-down _Millennium Falcon_ cockpit, Ben starts to teach her more defense tactics. How to shut out her surroundings and distance herself from others’ emotions. How to find her own mental focus amid a crowd of minds screaming out their personal desires. As always, he is patient with her stupid questions--this side to Ben is so disarmingly kind. His teaching isn’t the manipulation and gaslighting she feared. It is utterly sincere and very personal. And now, again she worries she made the wrong decision in Snoke’s throne room. 

“This is a coping mechanism,” he informs her sternly. “It’s not how you want to live your life.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Rey, there will be times and there will be people who you need to shut out. But don’t shut everyone out.”

“I won’t,” she promises. “Thank you. I know I’m not the best student—“

“I want to help. I grew up steeped in the Force with a mother who was quite powerful. From a young age, I was taught to manage my talents. It was the Jedi way—often, the wrong way—but it was something. You never had any of that. It’s why you need training. This power . . . it has downsides. I think it’s why so many Force users end up alone. It’s hard for others to appreciate how different we are. Our heightened senses are beyond their comprehension.”

She gulps. For he just put into words her worst fear. It’s not death, it’s not failure. It’s ending up alone . . . like on Jakku.

Ben must sense her unease, for he warns, “There’s no use in pretending you’re like everyone else. You’re not. You need to accept that. Just like you need to accept your role in finding balance.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she blurts out. Suddenly, she’s close to tears at this raw admission.

“You’re not alone,” he answers firmly.

He’s told her that before, but it still feels like a lie. Because she might have a teacher in Ben and friends back at the Resistance, but she’s alone in her fight to keep the spirit of the Jedi alive. And maybe Ben and Plagueis are right about moving on from some of the Jedi’s more extreme ideas. But they have gone too far with discrediting the entire religion. Rey wants to retain the essence of the Light Side ideals: truth, compassion, and fairness. She will champion those virtues in the face of cynicism. But dinner tonight has her feeling especially beleaguered. Like she’s alone in this fight against a chorus of Dark Side men of varying degrees of Sith-ness. From Sidious, to Plagueis, to Ren.

“Rey—”

“Yes?” she looks up.

“You’re not alone.” Ben walks forward and it’s not to kiss her. This time, it’s to hug her. He folds strong arms around her in a full embrace. She’s stiff for a second before she melts into his chest. This is the comfort she needs right now, even if she’s too shy to say so. But somehow, Ben knows anyway, bond or no bond.

With her head against his chest, his words spoken softly are right above her ear. “If you are alone, it is by choice. You are one half of our dyad. We belong together. We are stronger together. Never forget that when people try to separate us. Rey, don’t make it easy for them. It’s what Sidious wants.”

Is he about to tell her that they are destiny at work? That she owes it to the galaxy to join him and balance the Force? No pressure . . . no pressure at all . . . Rey closes her eyes to shut out the insistence she knows is coming next.

But Ben simply pulls back after a long moment of snug embrace. He tells her, “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow to learn you fled in the night,” before he turns and limps out.


	10. chapter 10

It’s early morning. He’s standing next to Darth Plagueis on the landing pad watching as Vanee lifts off in the cruiser to return his step-grandmother to Coruscant. 

Kylo heard the old woman’s story in full last night. It’s just the sort of tale that fits into his bizarre family history. The improbable meeting, the considerable power imbalance, the different political perspectives, the secrecy, and the unrelenting danger are all hallmarks of his clan. The only thing Astral Sidhu is missing is the Force. She’s still a Skywalker, though. Kylo’s not exactly sure how he feels about his newest long-lost relative after one meeting. She was here mostly as a character witness for Plagueis, he suspects. To be an independent version of events with his uncle. But all in all, he’s glad his grandfather didn’t spend his final years entirely alone. She seemed nice enough. 

Watching the cruiser ascend, Kylo remarks offhand to Plagueis, “She really hates Luke Skywalker.” That message came through loud and clear from Lady Vader, even if it was expressed in polite, measured words with repeated qualifications and caveats.

The Sith Master agrees with this assessment. “She blames your uncle for her husband’s death. And rightfully so, in some respects.” 

The mangled Muun frowns. “Back then, I believed it was all possible. That we could promote Vader to Emperor and install Luke Skywalker in the Apprentice role. Your uncle would broker a lasting ceasefire with the Rebellion and your grandfather would reform the excesses of the Empire. At long last, the galaxy would have peace and order. And then, in time, we would collectively find a way to balance the Force.”

“None of that happened,” Kylo grumbles. All that plotting came to nothing.

For a second, the old Sith at his side actually looks discouraged. “I underestimated Luke Skywalker’s Jedi allegiance and I misjudged Sheev Palpatine’s abilities. And so here we are, thirty years later, with different people fighting the same fight.”

Kylo takes this opportunity to ask a question that’s been on his mind for his own future: what happens if he and Rey succeed against Darth Sidious? Then what will Plagueis be up to? But Kylo’s no fool. He won’t ask the question directly to receive a convenient lie in return. Instead, he couches the issue in terms of the past, trying to sound casually curious. “What was your role supposed to be under Emperor Vader?”

“Behind the scenes. Even my original plans for the Empire had me behind the scenes.” 

Yes, Kylo thinks cynically, no doubt pulling the strings. Guys like Plagueis like to be the unseen mastermind. They live to be the one in control behind the curtain. He might owe his life to the guy, but Kylo doesn’t trust Darth Plagueis the Wise one bit. But he’s not letting on. He just listens like a good Apprentice should. 

The cruiser has disappeared from sight overhead but Plagueis stays put, recalling aloud the past. “Lord Vader bungled things terribly at Bespin. We never recovered from that. Still, the Force was with us, or so I thought . . . I had faith it would all work out in the end. Never,” Plagueis laments, “have I been so chagrined to be wrong.”

It’s just more blame to lay on Luke Skywalker, as far as Kylo’s concerned.

“I took our failure as a sign to step back and to let the Force right itself. Only when Sheev returned in person to kill the last Skywalker did I decide to re-emerge. You were my last hope,” Plagueis flatters him. 

“Not Rey?” he challenges. It still rankles that Rey was Darth Sidious’ preferred choice, not him. Not that he wanted to have that zombie inhabit him like Snoke. But still . . . it would have been nice to be offered the throne of Darkness only to turn it down. He had a lot of sweat equity invested in the First Order.

At the mention of Rey, the Sith Master’s eyes find the _Millennium Falcon_ parked at the far end of the landing pad. “That one’s a wildcard,” he judges. “Her future is clouded. Make her an ally, Apprentice. Do not let her rebuild the Jedi.”

“I’m trying.” He and Plagueis agree on that part, at least. It is long since time for the Jedi Order to end. The galaxy needs to move on. 

“Try harder,” the ugly Muun complains. He slants sly eyes his direction and Kylo has to fight the urge to squirm under the silent assessment. “You know,” Plagueis purrs thoughtfully, “back in the days when I was molding young Sith in the old ways of Darkness, I always gave a promising Apprentice a special mission.”

Kylo dutifully asks, “What was that?”

“To seduce a woman. My own Master gave me the same task. He said you will never seduce anyone to the Dark Side if you cannot seduce a woman. He was right.” 

Kylo can’t help it. He’s a little taken aback. 

The Dark Master smirks at his frankly uncomfortable expression. “Not a skill Skywalker taught you, eh?” he leers.

“Or Snoke,” Kylo admits.

“Yes, well, Sheev always was a bit of a prude.”

Is Plagueis really egging him on to seduce Rey? This all keeps getting more and more bizarre. Kylo shifts his weight uncomfortably. It’s not that he doesn’t want to go to bed with Rey—he’s had more fantasies of that scenario than he would ever admit. It’s just that his sheepishly romantic nature never thought of it in terms of a mission. He and Rey are supposed to fall in love while they succumb to mutual, undeniable, irrepressible lust that is the will of the Force. Because their love is destiny and fate will let nothing stand in the way of their epic love affair.

And wait--is Plagueis sifting his thoughts? Because that crafty gargoyle looks especially smug just now. Kylo feels his face flame with embarrassment.

But the Muun refrains from commenting. He just intones, “Long have I waited for a second chance at this. Don’t blow it, Apprentice. We are all depending on you. This time, we must succeed.”

There is no ‘we’ as far as Kylo is concerned. And he’s not Plagueis’ Apprentice. As soon as his leg finally finishes healing, he and Rey are getting out of here. But for now, he plays along. 

“Your uncle was misguided but well intentioned. When finally he realized the error of his ways, he quit when he might have helped to fix things. At every opportunity, Luke Skywalker made the wrong choice. It was such a shame. He had so much potential. Alas, the fault lies not in the Force, but in ourselves, Apprentice.”

“Don’t call me that in front of Rey again,” Kylo complains. “It upsets her.”

Plagueis could care less. “My Daughter can learn to handle it. As it is, she is much indulged. Look at how she lives,” he gestures derisively to the _Falcon_. “She’s gone from squatting in a wreck on Jakku to squatting in a wreck here. I wish she’d get that eyesore off my front lawn,” the Dark Master harrumphs. “It’s a wonder it can fly.”

Kylo thinks of the young woman who had started shooting at him on Takodana before she even knew she had the Force. That same girl fled last night’s dinner that posed no danger in a cowardly retreat. Rey isolates herself and then tells him she doesn’t want to be alone. She returns his kisses and then pretends they didn’t happen. She’s not playing hard to get because later she clings to him in a hug so needy that it is almost childlike. None of it makes sense except it all makes sense. Rey has turned out to be a mess of contradictions. It’s uncomfortably familiar.

With a glance over at the battered hull of the _Falcon_ , Kylo sighs. “She is a prisoner of her insecurities and fears.”

“Aren't we all, Lord Ren, aren’t we all,” old Plagueis replies. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Feel all that Force,” the Muun marvels. “Her imprint is enormous. Make sure you teach her to hide. She’s far too conspicuous.”

“I thought I was teaching her the Light.”

“Teach her to hide. She may need that skill to survive one day.”

Kylo isn’t debating the wisdom of learning the skill. He’s debating Rey’s willingness to learn. “She won’t like it.”

“That one’s a survivor. For all her scruples, she’ll do what it takes to live.”

“She won’t like it.”

“Got you wrapped around her little finger, does she?” Plagueis chuckles. “Never let it show, Apprentice. When women get the upper hand, you never get it back.” With that opinion imparted, Plagueis gets back to complaining about the _Falcon_. “That thing is such an eyesore. If I were a proper Sith father, I would march over, drag her out, and lock her in a guest room with plenty of Force lightning until she learned how to behave. That girl needs some standards.”

Kylo gives this plan a low probability of success. But he’s curious: “What’s stopping you?”

Plagueis grunts, “Guilt.” Then he heads back inside his villa.

Kylo heads inside himself, noting that he is limping less today. By the end of the day, his ankle will probably be swollen and stiff again. But this is a better start than usual to his morning. It puts him in a good mood. He even says hello to curmudgeonly Milo who is skulking in the kitchen, no doubt pouting that his frenemy sidekick Vanee is gone again for a few days. Kylo breezes in, pours himself a big cup of caf, and settles in the living room to wait for Rey.

When she arrives, he coyly prods, “Notice anything different?”

“Yes. You’re dressed. No more big, bare, hairy feet.”

That’s correct—he is wearing more of his new clothes—but that’s not what he’s angling for Rey to notice. “What else?”

She looks him over for a long moment before awareness suddenly dawns. “I can’t feel you in the Force.” Her eyes instantly widen. “Wait—are you projecting?” Rey looks genuinely concerned at that prospect as she worries, “Ben, you’ll kill yourself! No, wait—are you already dead again?” she chokes. “Are you a Force ghost?”

He’s amused. “I’m alive. I am hiding in the Force.”

She screws up her face. “Like Luke hid from the Force?”

“No. I can still feel the Force, but you can’t feel me. It is a deceptive technique.” In old school Sith training, this trick was the first lesson of being a Sith: how to hide so that you could one day become a phantom menace to the Republic and its Jedi guardians, carrying on a long tradition of Dark deceit.

“Hiding in the Force . . . ” Rey is dubious. “Sounds Dark.”

“It is. I’m here to teach it to you.”

“No, thanks.” 

It’s the reaction he expects. Well, too bad. Time for some tough love. This is an offer she cannot refuse. Giving Rey his firmest Supreme Leader look, he announces, “You need to learn this skill.”

She puts her hands on her hips in a mannerism vaguely reminiscent of his mother. “I don’t want to learn any Dark tricks.”

“Then think of it as defensive rather than deceptive,” he improvises. “Rey, you may need this knowledge to hide from Darth Sidious.”

That scenario gets her attention. But still, she is reluctant. “This is the first step towards fulfilling my vision, isn’t it?” she frets. 

“Having Sidious find you and inhabit your mind would pretty much fulfill that vision, don’t you think?” he counters.

That comment scores a hit. But Rey still worries, “Dark tricks are a slippery slope . . .”

“That’s my uncle talking. You know better. Do not fear Darkness. Make it your tool, not your cause, and you’ll be fine,” he assures.

She still balks. That vision on Endor clearly made quite an impression. 

“I promise. You’ll be fine,” he cajoles.

“I don’t know . . .”

“This trick is how Darth Sidious hid in plain sight from the Jedi Council. It’s how he sat across from Master Yoda in countless meetings and no one was the wiser. We will use Darth Sidious’ own strategies against him.”

“You mean fight Darkness with Darkness?”

“Yes.” But he’s not hung up on the categorization. “And sometimes we will fight Darkness with Light. Whatever it takes. Whatever works.” He doesn’t have any scruples left at this point. Afterall, this is Darth Sidious they’re talking about. No holds barred and no quarter for that fucker. Kylo doesn’t care if he dies from Dark Force, Light Force, or balanced Force, so long as he dies permanently this time.

“So basically, you’re saying that we’re going to use the Force however we want?” Rey asks.

“Yes. No rules.” No one to berate him for hearing—and even heeding—the call to the Light. And no one to fault Rey’s Darker tendencies, which he suspects have been fostered in large part by the deprivation of her upbringing. This girl is an emotional wreck, he’s learning. Full of insecurities and festering hurts that she masks with aggressive posturing and righteous insistence on simple answers and fairytale endings. 

She had looked so lost last night. Diminished in a way he did not anticipate. You put this girl in a pink dress at a dinner table and the power bleed is immediate and considerable. She might be a Force prodigy from the school of hard knocks but she’s also shockingly vulnerable and childlike. He hates to think of how easily Darth Sidious could manipulate her. He needs to make certain their enemy never finds her. Rey might be keen on a rematch of Exogol, but Kylo’s not so certain things would go down the same way twice. And that means she must learn how to hide in the Force.

“Allow me to demonstrate.” Enough with the preamble, Kylo starts teaching.

Rey listens and watches. He knows now that this is how she learns. She is something of a mimic, copying from him and others like Luke and his mother to advance her skills. It’s a carryover from her self-taught mechanical prowess on Jakku. Rey learns best by doing after she’s seen how others do it first.

“Now, you try it.”

She refuses. Rey is too afraid to attempt it. They compromise on her describing the technique in detail back to him. It’s not ideal, but he has to be satisfied with it.

“Master Skywalker would be horrified by this,” Rey grumbles.

Hell, yes. “That’s the best part,” Kylo smirks. “Welcome to the Dark Side, baby,” he teases.

Rey frowns. “You’re sure in a good mood. It’s weird. You even smiled just then.”

Whoops. He automatically denies it. “Did not.”

“Did too. You smiled when I walked in as well. It’s why I worried you had died again. You smiled before you died.”

“I don’t remember. Didn’t happen.”

“It was nice,” she recalls, ignoring his bluster. “You look really different when you smile . . . ”

Yeah? “Different how? Different in a good way or different in a bad way?” Please say good way. He doesn’t want to imagine himself grinning like a fool before he died ignominiously. That is not how a Dark hero is supposed to meet the Force. It lacks all the requisite manly melodrama.

Rey considers. “When you smile, you just look different. More normal, I guess.”

Whatever. “Get over your fetish for normal. You and I will never be normal,” he sniffs. He let go of the dream of being normal long ago. She needs to do the same. Kylo tries to look stern about it, but then he ruins it by smiling.

“Caught you!” Rey laughs.

And damn, if that doesn’t make him smile more.

“I didn't think you would be this happy today. Not after I read the morning newsfeeds . . . ”

Newsfeeds? His eyes narrow. The smile fades. “What happened? I didn’t read the newsfeeds.” He was too busy being hugged goodbye repeatedly by his long-lost grandmother and being invited to visit her on Coruscant. Normally, that sort of thing would annoy him and he would stomp off. But this was Lord Vader’s widow and he owed her respect. Besides, Astral Sidhu is perhaps the first ever family member who completely approves of him. It felt nice. He was happy to let her draw the farewell out as long as she wanted. But now, it seems he is behind on events. 

“There’s war news. The Republic took back Sullust in a big naval battle. The First Order fleet was mostly destroyed, including the flagship.”

He gulps. “The _Finalizer_ was lost?” Oh, shit.

“Yes, according to the reports I read.”

“FUCK!” he vents with an immediate curse. That’s not sufficient, so he fires some Force lightning at nothing in particular. Because that’s how pissed he is.

“Wow . . . ” Rey breathes out.

“Oh, stop it!” he snaps, full of annoyance. “We’ve both seen you do it before yourself. Stop pretending to be so Light because we both know you’re not.”

“I guess you had a lot of friends on the _Finalizer_ . . . ” Rey bites at her lip.

“Friends? I don’t have friends! Not like you have friends . . . not like you pretend to have friends . . . ” Rey really doesn’t understand the Dark Side at all. Dark Lords have enemies and allies. They don’t have friends. Things aren’t chummy with the Sith. “Vader’s helmet was on the _Finalizer_ . . . ”

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“You’re probably happy it’s gone,” he sneers, lashing out mostly because she’s here to take it. “You trashed it once already—“

“That was an accident!”

“Right! Like I believe that! Happy now? That was the only thing I had of him!”

Rey truly does look sad for him. She takes a few steps forward. “Ben, I’m sorry. I understand, really, I do—Plagueis burnt my books, remember—“

“It wasn’t books!” he roars.

That’s when Darth Plagueis appears. “Who is shooting lightning in my house?” he demands like some grumpy Dark grandpa awoken from a nap.

Rey immediately tattles. “Ben. There’s bad war news. And Vader’s helmet was destroyed.”

“Is that all?” Plagueis is unimpressed.

Frustrated, Kylo impulsively gives him a shot of lightning.

Plagueis deflects it effortlessly . . . right back at him. Kylo has to leap to avoid the barrage of Dark Force energy, causing him to land hard on his sore foot. He swears as he stumbles and ends up hopping on his good foot.

Darth Plagueis looks mostly amused. “Nice shot. You get one freebie and then I shoot back. That goes for you too, young lady,” he addresses Rey. “Take it outside, Apprentice, if you need to rage. I feel about my art like you feel about that helmet.”

“I’m sorry, Ben,” Rey ventures again. “I know you loved that helmet.”

Plagueis fails to perceive the loss. “It was nothing,” he complains. “A melted relic that only someone ghoulish like Sheev would encourage you to worship. That’s precisely the sort of iconography and ritual hocus pocus we need to move past. Masks are archaic,” he sniffs. “You don’t see me wearing a mask.”

“You need one,” Kylo jeers.

Plagueis shrugs off the insult. “I own who I am,” he says with devastating gravitas before he majestically sweeps from the room.

Dissed by the Muun, upset at the loss of his grandfather’s helmet that was his longtime talisman, and disturbed by the imminent collapse of the First Order, Kylo stalks off to brood. 

“What about my training?” Rey calls after him.

“Practice on your own,” he snarls back over his shoulder.

Two hours later, his exhaustive, obsessive reading of the newsfeeds has confirmed Rey’s report. The Order is indeed perilously close to defeat. With the _Finalizer_ and the main fleet gone, what little remained of the senior command after Exogol is now dead. Kylo doesn’t even recognize the names of the two guys who appear on camera in a hastily recorded message released to the holonet on behalf of the First Order. Predictably, the pair vow to fight until the end for the values of peace, strength, and order. But even they don’t seem to believe victory is possible. Their call to arms to rally the troops is halfhearted at best. It’s a lost cause and everyone knows it.

In the meantime, the jubilant Resistance has declared themselves the winners. The holonet is replete with interviews featuring General Finn taking a victory lap. The traitor assures everyone that there will not be a repeat of the years that followed the fall of the Empire, when Imperial remnants persisted and entire sectors of the galaxy remained under shadow Imperial control. This time is different, the ex-stormtrooper declares. Palpatine is dead. Snoke is dead. Ren is dead. All the Force wielding fascist tyrants are gone. Soon freedom will reign throughout the galaxy at long last. The traitor is emphatically certain that the third time is the charm for the Republic. 

Seething Kylo is sorely tempted to prove him wrong. Because it’s now or never to reappear as the resurrected Supreme Leader and attempt to save the day. Well, maybe it’s already too late . . . yeah, probably so . . . And why should he even care? Snoke was a lie and he was a chump for believing it for years. So if the First Order crashes and burns, he should be pleased. Except, he’s not. Kylo sees beyond the Sith power play to the underlying issues yet to be resolved.

Despite all the hyper-credentialed intellectuals who advised the New Republic, their Senate leaders had a huge blind spot for the priorities of non-Core, non-elite citizens. It resulted in a tendency to champion high profile, esoteric issues that had little to do with average peoples’ lives. That was the opening the First Order needed to harp on the many problems for which the New Republic had no compelling answers. For all their talk of empathy, Hosnia’s Senate leaders had a firm ideological orthodoxy. Basically, they wanted to solve problems with the same solutions that failed in the past. 

The New Republic was slavishly devoted to the halcyon days of the Old Republic. That mindset permitted them to overlook the corruption, inefficiency, and other shortcomings of the original failed galactic democracy. Clone Wars? What Clone Wars? That was merely an orchestrated conflict. There was no real disagreement amid the Republic systems, his own mother argued with a straight face. Any and all legitimate criticism was swept aside under the prevailing narrative that Darth Sidious and Darth Vader singlehandedly took down the Old Republic. It goes something like this: the evil Sith killed the good Republic, but now the good Republic is back. So, if you’re unhappy with the new good Republic, you’re either an apologist for evil or a loser who can’t make it in a free and fair society. 

That last sentiment might just be the most insidious part, Kylo thinks. For the meritocracy that the New Republic promised has appeal on its face. It’s the bargain that it you work hard, get an education or a skill, and make good decisions, you will rise. But it sent a separate message as well: that if you can’t get ahead, it’s your problem, not the government’s failure. Never mind that the deck is stacked against you because the wealth of the Core depends on exploitation of the Rim. Basically, the Core worlds want the rest of the galaxy to emulate their values and success, whether it’s achievable or not. This congratulates the winners and boos the losers. It tells struggling people that it’s their own fault. It feeds the sentiment that the New Republic Core elites look down on everyone else . . . because they do. 

The longtime Republic Chancellor Darth Sidious hidden in the background exploited that discontent to maximum advantage. Kylo sees now the political genius at the heart of the First Order peasant revolt. The Order offers up solutions that are simple and pragmatic, if not always democratic. Their openly nostalgic, Imperialist themes appeal to people who live in forgotten corners of the galaxy. To people who feel their best days are behind them. It’s a mix of straight talk, bluster, and grievance finely attuned to its audience. For the rhetoric of the First Order taps into a wellspring of social anxieties, economic frustrations, and legitimate policy grievances. Many people living in Mid Rim and Outer Rim systems listened and nodded along with it.

What happens to them now? Do they still have a champion? Will anything about the latest Republic be different from the first two iterations?

Plagueis wanders in after a while ostensibly to take a break, but Kylo is well aware that the old Sith Master is here to check on him. One glance at the three datapads in his lap betrays what he’s been up to.

“It’s hard to lose, isn’t it?” the exiled Sith commiserates as the voice of experience. 

He scowls back. “It’s not over yet.”

“It is for the First Order,” Plagueis judges. “Keep your eyes on the prize, Lord Ren,” he exhorts. “Balancing the Force will do far more than any political movement can.”

He disagrees. Politics and the Force are pretty much inseparable and always have been. Glancing over at his host, he hazards a tepid plot. “You look like Snoke. Everyone would believe you as Snoke. Want to be Snoke?”

“And reappear with Kylo Ren? Both of us back from the dead?”

“Why not?”

“Because the none of that matters. Let it all go. The Force is what matters,” Plagueis counsels. 

“The golden sequin dress is negotiable,” he persists, still half-serious.

Plagueis grunts. “Sheev had better hope I never catch him. Because he is going to suffer for that golden dress. But the best revenge,” he contends, “is balancing the Force. That will make you legendary, Lord Ren. Empires come and go, but the Force is eternal. The Force is what matters.”

Kylo tries to agree. But he’s never been a quitter and this feels a lot like quitting. What would his grandfather do in this circumstance? He wonders. Because Astral Sidhu had described a pragmatic man firmly committed to making things better for the average people of the galaxy. Darth Vader had been born a slave in the Outer Rim and he never forgot where he came from.

“Stay the course,” old Plagueis counsels again. The Sith Master claps him on the back in an unexpected fatherly gesture. “Remember . . . the Force is what matters,” he intones again before he exits.

Pensive and bored, Kylo wastes the rest of the day in meditation. But when even that fails to occupy him, he goes in search of Rey. The Force tells him she’s on the _Falcon_ , as usual. He stalks up the ramp hoping for some company or at least an argument. 

Where is she? She’s not in the lounge munching one of those nutrition bars she likes to eat. Wandering through the freighter, he ducks next into the galley and then into the cockpit. No Rey. Is she in the main cabin bedroom? He would knock, but the door is already open. 

“Rey?”

Yes, she’s inside. She’s standing in the alcove adjacent to the bedroom that his father only half-jokingly referred to as ‘Uncle Lando’s cape closet.’ She’s posed before the full-length mirror wearing the pink dress. 

At his voice, Rey whirls like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Her face is as pink as her elegant gown. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she sputters. 

She needs to keep her senses more alert than that. You can’t rely on the Force to announce imminent danger, you have to be on guard for it yourself. But rather than make this a teaching moment, Kylo smiles his appreciation at the pretty picture she presents. “I knew you liked it.”

“Actually, I hate it,” she lies, nervously toying with her hair that hangs loose in tousled waves about her shoulders. She looks very glam compared to her usual utilitarian presentation. Shocking soft, too.

“It’s ok to like it,” he assures, adding, “You’re beautiful in it.”

“I’ve never worn a dress before.”

That much is clear. He encourages again, “You look beautiful in it.”

She brushes off his compliment. “I hate it.” Then, she changes the topic to hide her embarrassment. “What are you doing here?”

“I got tired of reading depressing newsfeeds. Play me a game of dejarik?” 

“I’m not very good.”

“Liar. No false modesty. You’re good at everything.”

Rey brightens at both the praise and the challenge, regaining her usual confidence. “Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Let me just change—“

“Keep it on,” he interrupts. And did that come out like a command? He instantly makes light of the request. “It’s just a dress after all.” A dress that makes her look very alluring and delightfully girly. 

She looks down at the gown, frowns, and shrugs. “Yeah, you’re right. Whatever. I’ll keep it on.”

Yes, she definitely likes the dress. 

Rey swishes past him now in a whisper of pink silk that is at odds with her purposeful stride to the lounge. Rey marches to the dejarik booth like she’s storming the bridge of a star destroyer. They sit across from one another as she powers up the game. 

The first few moves of holochess are uneventful. The real strategy comes later in the game play. So, they trade moves between small talk.

Chin propped on her hand, Rey starts, “I’ve been meaning to ask you—what was it like being dead?”

“I don't remember.”

“Oh.”

“When I woke up here, I thought I was dead in Force Hell with Snoke,” he recalls.

“Is there a Force Hell?”

“Plagueis says no. But who knows?” In retrospect, his arrival back into the realm of the living seems more farce than fantasy. It was very humiliating. “I turned up here naked.”

“Naked!”

He grins. “Apparently, when you disappear into the Force—“

“--you leave behind your clothes,” she finishes. “Yeah, so that makes sense . . . you came back naked. Actually, I have your sweater. I kept it.”

“Were you thinking I would come back?” he teases. 

“No—I don’t know—“

“Were you hoping I would come back?” he presses.

“Well, maybe . . . ” 

That’s a yes, he decides happily. “Why’d you keep the sweater? Because if I knew I was coming back, I might prefer the pants. Unless you didn’t want me in pants—“

“Oh no. Pants! Definitely pants!” she reacts fast.

“You’ve seen me naked,” he reminds her. “Through the bond.”

“Not ‘no pants’ naked.”

He smirks. “A guy can always hope.”

“Dream on, fly boy,” she retorts. “So why did you ditch the uniform?”

“You mean after Endor? It was soaking wet and bloody with a hole from where you stabbed me.”

“Right. I forgot.”

Something about her immediate disappointment when he answers speaks volumes. He calls her on it. “You thought I turned up out of uniform because I was Ben Solo, didn’t you? I had come to save the day with a blue sword and everyman clothes?”

“Uh . . .”

“You did! Admit it.”

She parrots his line back to him. “A girl can always hope. Wait. I’ll be right back.” She disappears for a minute before she returns with the sweater he died in. “Here.” She thrusts it at him. 

He can’t resist needling her as he holds it up. “Is this my good boy sweater? I can’t believe you kept this.”

She shrugs. “It was all that was left.”

“You didn’t think you should bury it in the desert?”

“You know about that?”

“Yes.”

She looks embarrassed again. “I guess I kept it to remember you by,” she confesses. “To remember the man who stood with me against Darth Sidious and then saved me.”

“Ben Solo?” he asks dryly. 

“Yes. I thought you died a hero.” 

“Instead, I died a villain.”

“No. Not a villain. Not really.”

He’ll count that comment as progress, Kylo decides. This is so them. He and Rey have no casual conversations. They are always intense and full of substance, even if they pretend otherwise.

“So . . . it looks like the war really will be over soon.” Rey says this like it’s a good thing. It makes all the angst of his afternoon rush back.

He scowls as he moves his next piece. “What happens when it’s over?” he demands.

“We hold elections, convene the Senate, and elect a Chancellor.”

“And then what? Happily ever after with the New New Republic?” he scoffs.

“Well, yes.” She’s completely serious.

He squints at her naivete. “You really believe that?”

“Yes. I believe in democracy.”

“Why?”

She blinks. “What do you mean why?”

“What did galactic democracy ever do for you?”

Her mouth settles in a firm line as she looks away. “Jakku is different.”

“Not really. It’s an underpopulated, underserved, impoverished world like much of the Rim. And it’s controlled by a local strongman, like much of the Rim is controlled by crime syndicates and faceless, unaccountable Core-controlled corporations.”

Rey sighs as she makes her next move. “That’s nothing new.”

“That’s the First Order’s point. The Old Republic didn’t care about the outlying systems and neither did the New Republic. Only the Empire did. But when the Empire fell and chaos followed, people rushed to fill the void of legitimate authority. Bad people.”

“Things will be different this time.” Rey sounds confident and it irks him. It reminds him all too well of the traitor general’s interviews today on the holonet.

The news media gave the traitor a pass on the point, but he’s giving Rey pushback. “Why? Why will this time be any different?” Kylo challenges. “The Old Republic couldn’t govern the Rim and it provoked a secession movement for its neglect. Then, the New Republic couldn’t govern the Rim and the First Order arose to control the chaos. But now the New New Republic is somehow going to accomplish what its prior two iterations have failed to do?”

Rey moves a piece forward out of the dejarik board’s concentric rings and into the center circle. Then she shoots him a knowing look. “The Sith were behind the Separatists and the First Order.”

“Yes.”

“Well, that explains it.”

“Not entirely. Rey, the Sith didn’t create the inequities between the Core and the Rim. They just exploited them.”

“It will be different this time.” It’s the same baseless confidence and hollow optimism the traitor general spouts. The attitude makes Kylo practically lust to prove them wrong.

He takes refuge in biting sarcasm. “You mean it will be different now that you have conquered these people a third time in less than a century? Now, you can expect them to be more patient and understanding? Your friends liberate people from their own democratically elected First Order system level governments and you think they will support you?” 

“Most First Order worlds don’t have democratically elected governments,” she points out. “And Palpatine was elected, you know. Look, elections don’t always yield perfect results. But democracy is the most free, most fair system there is. The First Order—the Final Order—whatever you call yourselves now—you are violent, fascist extremists!”

Yep, she resorts to name calling. Kylo resists the strong temptation to respond in kind and call her New Republic friends out-of-touch liberal elites who exploit the Rim. Instead, he maintains, “The First Order filled the power vacuum left by the absent New Republic. It was either us, the Pykes, or the Hutts. You take your pick for who is the worst. Care to lay odds on what crime syndicate will replace us next month? Because if you like us, you’re going to love the Hutts.”

“You steal children to make them stormtroopers!” she accuses. Her eyes are hot and her hands grip the table. This won’t be one of their normal bickering arguments. She’s truly mad.

And was he personally the ‘you’ in that sentence? Kylo shoots back, “I didn’t make those decisions.”

“I notice you didn’t stop them when you became Supreme Leader!” Rey is getting shrill. 

“There is a war going on. I needed the troops. I won’t pretend that everything the First Order does is good—“

“Hosnia! What about Hosnia??”

“—but we had widespread popular support in some areas of the galaxy for a reason. To say that those people are all manipulated by Palpatine is to dismiss their legitimate grievances and to diminish their viewpoints.”

Rey leaps to her feet as she shuts him down. “No—don’t start! I’ve heard this argument before from your First Order media types. They foster a moral relativism that points out the failures of the Republic as counterpoint to their excesses. Two sentences later they’re equating Death Stars with bad trade policies and excusing genocide with promises of better days ahead!” Rey purses her lips and shoots him a measuring look. “I never pegged you for a true believer.” She’s disappointed and it shows.

Should he be offended? “You thought I was an opportunist?”

“No . . . Well, I don’t know . . . I guess I thought you had to go along with it all as the Apprentice . . . ”

Ah, they’re back to the ‘good boy’ sweater. Rey keeps wanting to view him as Snoke’s victim in need of saving. Perhaps he should be flattered, but a large part of him is annoyed at that portrayal. The situation is more complex than she realizes. In many ways, the First Order was the lesser of several evils.

He’s straight with Rey now, like always. She needs to wipe the rose covered goggles from her eyes and see him for who he is. “I was the Apprentice, yes. I also believe some of it.”

“You do??”

“Yes. But Rey,” he meets her eyes and holds her gaze, “that doesn’t mean I always agreed with Snoke’s means.” He was no fan of Starkiller Base.

“You mean you didn’t care about Snoke’s means. Not enough to object, that is.” Rey cocks her head at him. “You know, last night at dinner I listened to Lady Vader make the pitch for your grandfather reforming the Empire from within.”

“That’s right. Revolution throws out the good with the bad.”

“Which turned out to be a good thing since there wasn’t much compromise and reform in Darth Sidious,” she huffs. “Face it, Ben. Some things are too bad to be reformed.”

“You mean like me?” he challenges softly. “Like Kylo Ren?”

She furrows her brow. “I’m talking about the First Order. You are not the First Order . . . not anymore.” Rey shoots a pointed look at the ‘good boy’ sweater next to him in the booth.

“I guess . . . “ He’s not so sure. 

Kylo turns his attention back to the dejarik board. He makes a move that leaves him vulnerable. Rey takes the bait and takes him on, winning the next move with an easy kill. But he’s accomplished what he planned, for the forfeit of his piece opens up new avenues to attack her. Does she perceive that risk? Kylo wonders. He was trained by Darth Sidious’ puppet Snoke to always think two moves ahead of his opponent. It allows him to easily take her next three pieces. And now, the advantage is his.

Rey’s mind is still on politics, not the game. She lifts her chin and proclaims, “When people in the Rim are free and can think for themselves without First Order media outlets shoving fake news down their throats, they will understand. They want what people everywhere want: freedom, opportunity, and happiness.”

She’s half right. “The Rim might want opportunity and happiness. But they don’t want freedom.” He leans forward across the table for emphasis. “They want order.”

“You’re wrong.”

“We’ll see. History is on my side.” Kylo now slides his strongest piece into attack position. It’s a bold, risky bet that could bring victory if she’s not careful. “Your move,” Kylo prompts her softly.

Rey frowns down at the board, looking momentarily stumped. She hunches over the game, studying it as she speaks. “Finn’s latest message predicts victory in a month. Maybe less, if Dantooine falls quickly.”

“Is the Republic going to occupy the Rim?”

“Of course, not. Those systems are free now.”

“Free to be controlled by criminals and off-world investment vehicles? Free to pay extortion money to the Hutts? To become a haven for scofflaws and smugglers with their trail of violence, spice, and vice behind them? People like Han Solo made a living off all that misery. Bounty hunters were what counted for local law enforcement,” he recounts the truth of Rim living. “Don’t kid yourself, Rey, there is nothing romantic and dashing about smugglers, pirates, and guns for hire. They have no allegiance other than credits. At least with the First Order, there is an ideology. We have a creed that trumps avarice.”

“Things will be different this time,” she stubbornly contends. Then, she makes her own bold move. She’s attempting an end-run around his strategy. “Your move,” she tells him smugly.

He answers her move and then waits. This is it. Her next move either wins or loses the game. Kylo waits to see how it will unfold. Will she win? Will he win?

Neither of them wins. The game is a draw thanks to a technical malfunction. For as Rey sits deciding, the decades old dejarik table glitches. She swears in coarse Huttese as she pounds the controls. “I hate it when it does that.” Then, she pounds some more. Rey isn’t much for finesse.

“I guess we both win,” he is diplomatic about the outcome. 

Rey snorts. “You were going down.”

“That’s what you think.” He shrugs, unconcerned. “I guess we’ll never know. Rematch tomorrow?”

“Yeah, okay.” She starts poking at the game controls, yanking off the faceplate to expose the machine’s inner workings. She frowns at what she sees. “I’ll take this apart later tonight and see if I can tighten the connections. It’s old wiring that looks brittle.”

“This was fun. You’re a worthy opponent,” he commends her sincerely. “That was a good game.”

“I guess that’s praise coming from you,” she decides, still poking. “This kind of chess game is pretty Sith.” And now, suddenly she is uncharacteristically unsure of herself. Rey sits back and looks away as she worries, “Ben, I don’t know if there will ever be a place for you in the Republic . . . not feeling like you do . . . ”

“You mean because I won’t be publicly contrite Ben Solo serving a prison term in a softie sweater? Clothes make the man apparently,” he smirks, holding up the garment in question. 

Rey doesn’t appreciate the levity. The princess dress she’s wearing probably doesn’t help. “It’s not what you wear that’s the problem, it’s who you are.”

That’s true. And he’s fine with it. Like Plagueis who refuses to wear a mask, Kylo owns who he is and he won’t make nice to the Republic to ingratiate himself. That’s not just because of his political views, it’s also good strategy. He was raised the prince of doomed Alderaan, so he knows there will never be an acceptable apology for things like Hosnia. 

“I won’t be the fall guy for Snoke and Sidious. I won’t take the blame for Starkiller Base.”

She nods slowly. “That’s a problem. Because if Darth Vader was once the most hated man in the galaxy—“

“Then I’m a close second?” he guesses.

“Yes. And you’re the only contender left alive to punish.”

“So I’ll stay dead. Not many people know my face.”

“The Resistance leadership does.”

“Does that matter?”

“It does if we ever want to . . . uh . . . be together . . . you know . . . if destiny ever comes true . . . ” she stammers, flustered and blushing prettily. 

She’s got it all wrong. “Rey.” He reaches across the small table to grab her hand and cease her tinkering. “Rey, the Resistance can’t stop destiny. Neither can you. That’s the point.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t keep you a secret. Ben, if they knew you were alive—

“They’d be sending you to kill me?”

“Yes! And that’s why I’ve been thinking that I need to leave—“

What? “No!” He grips tighter now, and she doesn’t pull away. In fact, she offers the other hand. He accepts and now they are holding hands across the game table.

“I want to learn more from you. I need a teacher, I know—“

“You can’t leave--we’re not done yet!” She can’t walk out on him now.

Rey reasons, “The longer I stay here, the deeper I betray the Republic and the more suspect I become in their eyes. You are a taint. I’ll never explain this,” she wails, looking miserable. “I’m not even going to try.”

“Rey, we will need to leave soon. Plagueis can’t be trusted. But we need to leave together so we can keep training.”

“I’ve got to go back to the Republic. And you can’t follow me there.”

He’s getting frustrated. “Have you heard nothing that Plagueis and I have said? You need to leave the Republic in order to save it. Balancing the Force is the only way to defeat Darth Sidious.”

“You want me to turn my back on my friends?”

“If you honor what they fight for, then yes.” As she fumes, he reminds her, “I’m turning my back on the First Order as well. You’ve read the newsfeeds. You know how badly they need me.”

“That’s different.”

“Not really. Not for me.”

She sighs and looks down at their clasped hands. “I wish things were different . . . “

He slants her a resentful glance. “You mean you wish I were Ben Solo and you could argue for clemency so I could train you openly.”

“Yes. Something like that. But you’re still very First Order—“

“So is a third of the galaxy’s population.”

“—and no one in the Resistance will accept you.” She pulls away now and leaps to her feet. Rey is agitated as she starts pacing. “I wish there was some way they would accept you . . .”

Her pacing is making him nervous. It’s like she’s going to flee at any moment back to the Resistance. So he’s on his feet now to intercept her. Placing hands on her forearms, Kylo stands close. “You know what the Force wants. Now, ask yourself what do you want. Trust your feelings,” he urges. _Choose me, not the Resistance._

“I do . . . It’s just . . .” She looks up in appeal to him, clearly frustrated for her predicament.

They are standing in the perfect posture for a kiss. This is his chance. That interrupted make out session in Snoke’s living room has only whetted his appetite. He wants a kiss and more . . . much more. Not last night’s chaste hug but bare skin on bare skin and his hungry mouth on hers. In the moment, Kylo is certain that their attraction is very strong and unmistakably mutual. He’s tempted. She’s tempted as well.

His head dips lower and hovers there just above her upturned and waiting mouth. He knows what he wants to do, but he’s far from certain that it’s the right course. Darth Plagueis might want him to seduce Rey to their cause, but he’s shy of more rejection given the misgivings she vocalized tonight. The only thing worse than Rey turning him down again would be Rey accepting him and then running home to the Resistance. And so, he’s stuck here. Made uncharacteristically cautious from bad experience.

The tension is killing him. Finally, Kylo dips lower but his lips land on her forehead. It’s a soft salute that leaves them both frustrated and wanting. But at least it shows he cares.

For tonight at least, they will continue to dance around one another. Each afraid to make a bold move like they did earlier on the chess table. This isn’t a game. Hearts and lives hang in the balance. Get this wrong and billions could suffer for it. They are Skywalkers after all, and their personal struggles have larger consequences on the galaxy.

“Good night.” He abruptly pulls back and turns to head towards the _Falcon_ ’s ramp. It’s a strategic retreat.

“Ben,” she calls after him.

“Yes?” He stops and half turns to face her. He doesn’t really want to leave. Does it show? A little encouragement is all he needs right now.

“I really wish things were different.” 

Her comment tells him everything he needs to know: he made the right decision just now by not kissing her lips.

She repeats herself. “I really wish things were different.”

Kylo nods but shoots her down. “They won’t be. We will have a lot to deal with.”

Is this part of the test for balancing the Force? Do he and Rey have to compromise personally before they can find the universe’s equilibrium? He wonders. There are so many differences they must bridge to succeed. So much stands in their way. He knows it. She knows it, too. But if this were easy, someone would have done it by now. 

He’s still clutching his sweater from Exogol as he leaves. It’s dirty and torn, he notices afterwards. Why did Rey keep it? Sentiment. It was all she had left of a man she never really knew who had a profound impact on her life. It’s the very same reason he prized Vader’s helmet. And sure enough, as he raises the sweater to his face, he thinks he can smell Rey on the fabric. It smells like all-purpose soap combined with a faintly earthy scent that is indescribable but uniquely feminine. It gives him pause. She must have kept it close, he realizes.


	11. chapter 11

The next morning, Rey loses track of time reading the newsfeeds. There’s just so much to read. It’s optimistic and reassuring for the short term. Darth Sidious might still be out there somewhere, but things are looking up for the Republic. That helps Rey to rationalize her prolonged absence. Finn and Poe don’t need her. Not like they think they do. But the sooner the Republic gets organized, the better. Rey strongly suspects that Darth Sidious won’t stay away another thirty years this time with Luke and Leia gone. Sidious probably likes the odds of having just her, Ben, and Plagueis left to oppose him. After all, he’s beaten each of them as himself or in his guise as Snoke. 

It’s especially easy to get stalled perusing the newsfeeds since she’s nervous about being around Ben. The more time they spend with one another, the more attracted she is to him. It’s nothing she doesn’t already know. From their very first meeting, when the Dark prince of the First Order snatched off his helmet to reveal fluffy hair, soulful eyes, and pouty lips, Rey was drawn in. But here’s the thing—this isn’t a new crush. She and Ben have a history. When will she learn? _She knows better._

Ben keeps turning down second chances. She watched him kill his father who bravely offered him a way back home. Then, when she herself offered Ben an alternative to his Dark path, he refused. In a terrible irony, killing Snoke didn't set Ben free of the Dark Side, it opened up possibilities for advancement. Ben killed his Master in a classic Sith ascension, promptly declared himself Supreme Leader, and then set out to finish off the Resistance and consolidate power. Even when Ben appeared on Exogol, Rey now knows it was motivated as much by revenge, power, and position as it was by saving her or saving the galaxy. Ben stood at her side for himself as much as for anything else. They united for the common cause of defeating Darth Sidious, but that was where their meeting of the minds ended.

Ben is who Ben is, Rey is belatedly realizing. He truly is equal parts Ben Solo and Kylo Ren, just like he claims. She has stubbornly—maybe foolishly—tried to reform him, to no avail. But even that knowledge doesn’t seem to dim his allure. Strangely enough, her fascination for Ben is as much condemnation as it is compassion. For she’s as repulsed by him as she is attracted to him. His Darkness draws her closer even though she knows she should resist it. Ben Solo has mistake written all over him. _She knows better._ And yet, last night she stood close beneath him, feeling his hot breath on her cheek as she angled for his kiss. 

She plans to pretend that never happened, of course. It will save them both awkwardness. 

Darth Plagueis would probably explain her and Ben’s strange relationship with his theory of balance. Her pull to Ben is her pull to the Dark Side he represents, just like his actions towards her can be explained by his longtime weakness for the Light. But they are individuals as much as they are archetypes. They are people, not just causes. Rey can’t help but like Ben even knowing his misdeeds. She recognizes his loner tendencies, and she respects his knowledge and abilities. He’s not bad to look at either. 

Could she accept Ben as he is? Part of her wants to do so. They could run away together and hide out somewhere to study the Force. In some ways, that might be the perfect exit strategy. Except she doesn’t think Ben will be content to sit on the sidelines for history any more then she will be. He’s far too invested in the First Order, like she’s committed to the Resistance. When the war ends soon, she doesn’t expect Ben to accept defeat and move on. He certainly won’t be making overtures for reconciliation with the Republic. She can’t say she blames him. Even if Ben were sincerely contrite, he would be a very hard sell to Finn and Poe.

Where does that leave things? Rey isn’t sure what the future holds. But whatever lies ahead, she needs more training. So she marches down the _Falcon_ ’s ramp intending to present herself at the villa. She finds Ben outside on the landing pad practicing saber forms in the morning sunshine.

“You’re feeling better,” she calls as she walks up.

“I’m tired of sitting around.”

“So your leg is healed?”

“It’s healed enough.” 

She believes him. Ben moves pretty normally. Rey observes in silence as he glides through a series of poses. He moves with a dancer’s smooth grace that belies his strength and power. Rey has crossed swords with this man several times. She knows the force of his blows. She respects the threat he represents. But it’s all a bit ridiculous this morning given he’s not holding a lightsaber or even a conventional weapon. Instead, Ben brandishes a stick that looks to be torn from a tree branch.

Amused, she decides to join in. “Hold on. I’ll go get my staff.”

“No. Leave that thing onboard. Lightsabers are supposed to be elegant weapons. You win with a clean kill. You don’t bludgeon your opponent to death.”

“No,” she answers with an eye for his current weapon, “apparently, you poke them with a stick.”

He shrugs as he continues his practice. “It’s all I have. And it works for what I need this morning.”

She’s not the only one who has noticed Ben on the landing pad. Up walks Darth Plagueis to investigate.

“All hail the mighty Kylo Ren.” Like her, the Sith Master is amused by Ben’s weapon. He chides, “Look how the mighty have fallen.”

“Careful, Sith,” Ben responds with a flourish of his stick. “My ally is the Force.”

“Good answer, good answer,” the Muun chuckles at this silliness. “How did you lose your sword exactly?”

“I chucked it in the sea. I wasn’t going to use it for Darth Sidious any longer.”

Rey summarizes with a sigh, “You broke with your Masters Snoke and Sidious, but you didn’t break with the Dark Side or the First Order . . . ” It’s a distinction she failed to appreciate on Exogol. 

Ben shoots her a pointed look and obliquely alludes to their conversation last night. “I’m not the hero.”

Old Plagueis is annoyed by the comment. “Are we still talking about this? You’re both the hero,” he grumbles. “Apprentice, you need a sword.”

Lunging Ben reminds him, “Darth Sidious won’t be killed with a sword.”

“No. But other people can be.” The towering Muun turns to her and looks pointedly at the weapon hanging at her waist. “Give him back his family sword. You can twirl that yellow thing.”

“Please don’t. That weapon is ridiculous,” Ben complains as he continues his form poses.

Rey isn’t giving back the Skywalker sword. She offers a substitute. “I have your mother’s sword. You can use that.”

“No, thanks.”

“She’d want you to have it.”

Ben scowls. “No, she wouldn’t.”

“She would.”

“She stopped training with that sword because of me. Because of who I would become. Did she tell you that?”

“Luke did.”

Ben gives her a pointed look over the end of his stick. “My mother quitting her training didn’t stop me from becoming who I am.”

Plagueis takes that as his cue to intone, “Nothing would have stopped it. You cannot stop destiny.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Rey sighs, thinking of her vision on the Death Star ruins. She deeply fears becoming that scary, Dark woman. “But you can still use Leia’s sword.” 

“It’s too short. I need a long sword.”

“Your stick isn’t very long,” Rey observes.

“She said it, I didn’t,” Plagueis laughs. “A sword must be in proportion to your height and skill. When I fought with a weapon, I had an exceptionally long sword.” Plagueis smirks at Ben. “Longer than yours, Apprentice. Much longer.”

“I doubt that.”

“Count on it.”

“Does it matter?” Rey complains at the stupid argument.

Ben agrees. “It’s not how long your sword is. It’s how you use it.”

The Sith Master snorts. “Did some woman tell you that? Did it make you feel better? Wait—did my Daughter tell you that?” he leers. “Apprentice, did you accomplish your special mission?” Plagueis asks in a comment that is lost on her.

Rey fumes, “Are we still talking about swords?”

Ben ceases his practice and turns to her. He gestures to the Skywalker saber. “Why do you even want it? It’s not yours.”

She begs to differ. “It called to me and I found it.” 

“Did you find a hand with it?” Plagueis deadpans.

She takes offense. “That’s not funny.”

“Yes, it is. Did you know that Lord Vader was very funny?” the old Muun recalls. “People always forget that because he was so fearsome. Your grandfather would boom sarcasm from behind that mask and everyone was too terrified to laugh. That was the best part. Lord Vader made everyone uncomfortable. Sheev must have been jealous of all that Dark gravitas.”

Whatever. “This lightsaber belongs to me,” Rey puts a protective hand on the weapon lest Ben try to snatch it with the Force.

Sensing the brewing dispute, Plagueis offers a compromise. “Apprentice, when Vanee gets back, I’ll get him to open the vault and you can pick a sword from the collection. I’d let you in myself, but Vanee knows the organization better than I do. He gets cross when I go in search of something without him.”

“You have a sword collection?” Rey blinks.

“I have Lord Vader’s trophies from the Jedi Purge. His Mustafar castle was looted for everything but its actual treasure,” Plagueis explains. “Lord Vader amassed an impressive collection of holochrons and artifacts he stole from temples and straggler survivors. It is a veritable library of the Light.”

“So you’re saying Lord Vader would never have destroyed her books?” Ben guesses.

“Probably not,” their host admits. “But if he did, it wouldn’t matter. He already had his own copies.”

“He did?” she asks hopefully.

“Yes, I believe there are several versions of those manuscripts in the collection.”

Whew. “So the knowledge isn’t lost?” She is deeply relieved.

“The books are there for you both to access when the time is right,” the old Muun promises.

“How about right now?” Rey angles.

“All in good time,” Darth Plagueis slows her down. “When you balance the Force, Daughter, I will give you a key to the vault and you may learn all you wish of the old ways of the Force. But first, you must chart our course into the future.” He turns back to Ben. “In the meantime, you are welcome to select a sword.”

“These are swords from dead Jedi?” Rey worries.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Ben gestures to the weapon at her waist. “That sword you call your own killed a bunch of Jedi.”

“Younglings. Lots and lots of innocent younglings,” Plagueis piles on ghoulishly.

Are they trying to give her a disgust of the sword? It won’t work. “It’s mine.”

“With Lord Vader’s helmet lost and his castle destroyed, that sword is all Lord Ren has left of his grandfather . . .” Darth Plagueis muses rather pointedly.

She isn’t swayed. “It’s mine.”

“So stubborn you are, Daughter,” the Muun sighs and rolls his eyes. “Well, carry on, carry on.” The ugly Muun departs, leaving her and Ben alone on the landing pad.

“Do you know your forms?” Ben asks as he resumes his practice.

  
  
“Not really. There were some in my books. I tried them a few times.” Rey explains, “Your mother didn’t have a lot of time to train me. I did the combat stuff on my own.”

  
  
Ben is affable about her ignorance. “It’s okay to be self-taught. Luke Skywalker was mostly self-taught. Try to follow along. Let’s see what you can do.” 

Rey lights the Skywalker saber and does her best to imitate his poses. In this, as in all other things, Ben is a surprisingly patient teacher. He’s a different man when he’s speaking reverently of the Force than when he is stomping through a star destroyer with a crowd of stormtroopers trailing in his wake. This Ben is collaborative and earnest. Neither insistent nor commanding. It’s more like he is sharing secrets with her. Moreover, he seems delighted to do so.

He talks as they move. “You learn the poses until they become second nature and are committed to muscle memory. So that they flow with your body during combat. Swordplay is a bit like a choreographed dance. There are classic forms, traditional attack patterns and defenses, and signature moves and passes. I will teach you to master them all.”

“Okay.” But Rey is a pragmatist when it comes to things like this. Frankly, she could care less about the sword lore of the Jedi and the Sith. Her fighting doesn’t need to look pretty, she just needs to win. “I mostly want to know how to block laser blasts . . . unless there are other leftover Sith Lords hanging around who we don’t know about . . . ” Because who’s left in the galaxy to fight her with a lightsaber? Her eyes drift to the man beside her. Ben, that’s who. “Unless you and I will be dueling . . . ” she adds as an afterthought.

“We’re on the same side now,” he assures her. “But this is a proud tradition. It is my obligation to pass on what I know. This knowledge is lost if it is not shared.” He says this with such seriousness that Rey takes note.

She plays along. “Okay. Show me that last bit again.”

Kylo complies and Rey awkwardly imitates. “Is this right? This doesn’t feel right.“

"Lean into it more,” Kylo suggests. “The sword is an extension on your anger—I mean your arm.”

  
  
She snorts. “That doesn't sound like Jedi training.”

  
  
“Combat techniques are neither Light nor Dark, they are defensive or offensive. So don’t worry about which moves are Jedi or Sith. It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay . . .” She is dubious.

As always, Ben teaches by putting skills in historical context. Lightsaber forms are no different. “The Jedi spent centuries in a police function, so their traditional combat training focused on deescalating conflicts. The goal was to use the sword to protect life, not to take it. If at all possible, you were supposed to refrain from lighting your weapon.”

  
  
That harkens back to what Rey read in her books. “Non-violent intervention . . . “

  
  
“Yes. Not your thing.”

  
  
“Hey!”

  
  
“You're more the aggressive negotiations type.”

  
  
“What does that mean?”

  
  
“Negotiations with a lightsaber. A lit lightsaber.”

  
  
“Yeah, I guess that is more me,” Rey grumbles sheepishly.

  
  
“You lit a sword on Luke Skywalker,” Ben reminds her.

  
  
“Wasn't my best moment.”

  
  
He shoots her a look. “Neither was stabbing me on Endor.”

  
  
“Right. Not my best moment,” she squirms guiltily. “But hey—I’m from Jakku. And I healed you. So, no hard feelings?” she proposes.

  
  
“I’m a Dark warrior. We are known for revenge,” Ben boasts with the ghost of a smile about his lips. “But since I’m also a conflicted Skywalker, I grant you forgiveness. I shall refrain from taking your head.”

“With your little stick?” she teases.

“You live another day, Jedi,” he retorts. “Yes, like that,” he continues critiquing her efforts. “Keep your other arm back for a counterbalance. Weight to your bent knee. Shoulders and eyes forward. Lunge like you mean it.”

“This is hard,” she mumbles. 

“You are a naturally athletic and you are full of Force, but formal swordplay is much harder than it looks.”

Yes, she’s learning that fast. It’s like advanced yoga with a deadly weapon.

“Eyes on your surroundings, never your sword tip. The sword is your arm and you think its movement like you think your arm to move.”

“Got it.”

Eyes on her surroundings is an easy task because Rey’s eyes keep wandering to Ben. She’s entirely too aware of his body next to hers and it has nothing to do with his training. It has everything to do with the broad shoulders and rippling muscles she once saw naked and gleaming pale white in dim light through the bond. It was a tease that worked. The brief image has remained a favorite in her mind. 

They shift to another pose and Ben ventures offhand, “What do you say we let all bygones be bygones?”

  
  
It’s a serious question that requires a serious answer. “What would that include exactly?” Rey probes.

  
  
“Everything. We let the past die and we move forward. That’s what this is all about. Evolving beyond the well-rehearsed conflicts of the past to make something new. Fresh starts.”

“Fresh starts . . .” She mulls it over.

“Fresh starts for us personally and for the Force,” he clarifies.

  
  
That’s not exactly the plea for forgiveness from the contrite, redeemed Light Side Ben Solo that she was hoping to hear. It sounds more like a truce, which is what they de facto have right now. Well, more like a truce with kisses . . .

He presses, “Well?”

She’s supposed to accept what happened regardless of whether Ben regrets doing it. It’s less ‘I’m sorry and I won’t do it again’ and more ‘It happened. Get over it.’ Flummoxed Rey hedges, “I’ll think about it.”

  
  
He scowls. “That’s a no.”

  
  
“That’s not ‘no,’” she protests. “That’s ‘I’m not sure.’” This guy has a lot of blood on his hands, including his own father’s. Would it kill him to act the least bit sorry? He’s acting very matter-of-fact about his infamy.

  
  
“What if I call myself Ben Solo?” Ben jeers, looking stung. “Would that help?”

  
  
“It might.” Feeling ambushed, Rey gruffly calls him back to the task at hand. “Back to saber forms.”

  
  
He shoots her a dirty look but resumes teaching. “The Jedi’s emphasis on non-violent intervention fell by the wayside in the Clone Wars.”

  
  
That makes sense. “It wouldn’t have been practical against the droids.”

  
  
“Yes. Since the fall of the Sith Empire, lightsaber combat had been confined mostly to melee brawls. The Jedi didn’t expect to be fighting equals. That all changed when the Sith re-emerged. Dueling took on new emphasis and the Jedi were tasked with being battlefield commanders.” 

Ben’s tone turns bitter now. “The Clone Wars were the zenith of Jedi hypocrisy. The Republic’s peacekeepers became soldiers. The champions of life and liberty commanded legions of genetically modified, expendable slave soldiers. All the while, the Jedi Council that claimed to be apolitical meddled ceaselessly in the Senate. It all culminated when the Jedi attempted to arrest the duly elected Chancellor without a warrant or an investigation. When the plan went awry, they decided instead to assassinate him.”

“Palpatine was a Sith Lord!” Rey defends the decision. 

  
  
“Where’s all that love of democratic due process now?” Ben goads her. “In that act, the Jedi were exposed for who they were: power hungry zealots terrified of the Sith and the Darkness they represented. Willing to compromise their ideals to protect their institutional standing. People forget that the Purge was surprisingly popular in its day. Citizens resented the Jedi for their warmongering and sanctimony. Many also viewed Palpatine as a hero who tried his best to hold the Republic together.”

  
  
“So the point is?” Rey huffs, not really wanting to hear more of Ben’s political opinions or praise for Darth Sidious.

  
  
“The point is that the Jedi Order didn’t always live up to its ideals. My uncle wasn’t the first to make the wrong choices due to his paranoia about Darkness.” 

Ben continues, “You can see the loosening of Jedi standards in their training. As the role of the Jedi evolved, so did their combat skills. Some are indistinguishable from their Sith counterparts. Same moves, just different labels. It’s like how the Jedi mind trick is not that different from Sith mental manipulation.”

  
  
“Is this leading up to a balance lecture?” she guesses.

  
  
“The distinction between a Light Side skill and a Dark Side skill can be rather flimsy. Stop worrying about learning something Dark. Learn it all, and use it when you need it. That’s it. Last one. We’re done.” Ben lowers his stick and stops his progression of poses. 

As she extinguishes her weapon, Ben goes in search of another branch. “This will do,” he announces as he selects one to hand to her.

“What’s this?”

“I want a rematch.”

Is she understanding him right? “We’re playfighting with sticks?”

  
  
Ben doesn’t answer with words. He leaps to engage with his woefully silly weapon, howling, “You are unwise to lower your defenses,” with a boyish grin on his face.

“Hey!” She leaps back before joining the battle in earnest. Soon, they are trading blows, stabs, and jabs with a pair of brittle tree branches.

  
  
“I have you now!” Ben thrusts for the kill and misses.

She laughs. This is fun. It’s also fast. Ben is very quick for such a tall man. But soon her jab and swing combo cracks off half of his stick. What was a meter is now little more than a twig. Ben grimaces but reengages nonetheless. 

  
  
“What was that you said earlier about Leia’s saber being too short?” she laughs. “You’re stumpy now.”

  
  
“My sword is plenty big. It can handle you,” Ben answers.

  
  
“Hardly. I have the advantage.”

  
  
“That’s not the same as having the win.”

  
  
“Ha! Don't make me destroy you!” she shrieks.

"I see you have the banter part down," Ben drawls as he dodges yet another lunge. "Talking trash is part of the duel."

“I’m from Jakku. I could probably teach you a thing or two about trash talk,” she brags. 

“We need to work on your footwork. You have terrible footwork. Luke was a stickler on footwork.”

Ben must be right because no sooner does he speak than she stumbles a little.

“Snoke didn’t care about footwork. He prized a precise swing. Yes, that’s it. Swing with your whole arm, not just your elbow. Get the full power of your body behind it,” Ben keeps teaching.

  
  
“Like this?” She swings.

  
  
“Yes. Better.”

“Better like this?”

He recoils from her incoming branch. “You are a quick learner,” he commends, “but you keep leaving openings on your left. Protect your left. Watch.” He pokes her with his little stick before she can even see the movement to block it. 

“Ouch!”

  
  
“You’ll live. Next time, protect your left.”

  
  
“I’m trying. You’re fast.”

  
  
“The best swordsmen could vary their speeds to confuse their opponents’ timing.”

  
  
“Like this?” She slows and then hurries.

  
  
“Yes. Good. That reminds me. We should work on Force-assisted speed.”

  
  
“Not today. You’re tiring,” she declines, noting his now limping gait and heaving chest.

  
  
“Well, I’ve been dead and I have this broken leg,” he sighs.

  
  
“How much longer to heal?”

  
  
“The bones are fused. It’s just soft tissue damage now. This movement probably helps.”

  
  
She is skeptical of that claim. “Is it hurting?”

  
  
“Yes.”

  
  
“Then I had better win so you can stop.”

  
  
“To the victor, go the spoils.”

  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean? What do I win?”

  
  
“A kiss.”

  
  
“What?” Huh?

  
  
“You wanted one last night,” he smirks.

  
  
Rey feels her cheeks grow hot and it’s not from the exertion. She grumbles, “I hate that you can read my thoughts,” with true resentment.

  
  
“I hate that you can’t acknowledge anything between us,” Ben responds with equal acrimony.

  
  
Again, her cheeks grow hot. “I’m being discrete.”

  
  
“You’re afraid.”

  
  
“Yes! Look, this is complicated.”

  
  
“You're right. I tell you what—if you win, you get a kiss with Ben Solo. If I win, you get a kiss with Kylo Ren.”

  
  
“Is there a difference?”

  
  
“You tell me. You’re the one who wants to change me.”

Rey frowns and concentrates on the battle.

  
  
“Aha!” Ben somehow manages to knock the stick from her grip. He stomps on the fallen weapon as he declares, “I win! Pucker up.”

  
  
“I didn’t agree to this,” she protests as he steps forward to claim his prize.

  
  
“Worried Plagueis is watching?”

  
  
“Is he? Then we definitely shouldn’t do this.” Rey crosses her arms and lifts her chin.

  
  
“You’re right. We shouldn’t. This isn’t the Jedi way. And it’s not the Sith custom either. The Sith kill their enemies.”

  
  
“No mercy?”

  
  
“No mercy. But we’re letting the past die. No rules. That means kisses are allowed. Attachments too.”

  
  
“Ben, you’re really limping—“

  
  
“Only the leg is broken. The rest of me works.”

  
  
“Oh, very well,” she fumes. “Get it over with. Then go rest your leg.”

  
  
“As you wish.”

This isn’t a reprise of last night’s awkward longing as they stand close. This time, Ben nabs her hand and lifts it to his lips. It’s a courtly gesture from a bygone era that perfectly fits the prince of a lost world. The smooth, romantic gesture is not at all what Rey is expecting. She’s disarmed . . . and charmed.

She must also look shocked because Ben smirks, “There. Done. Now you can pretend it never happened.”

  
  
“What happened?” she takes refuge in flippant sarcasm.

  
  
“You catch on fast to deceit. Maybe you will be Dark soon,” Ben leers with some sly shade.

Rey frowns and changes the topic. “You need to get off that leg. Can you ice it?”

  
  
“I will. You keep practicing. I’m going inside.”

“Dejarik later?” she asks hopefully.

“Only if you wear the dress again.”

“It’s a deal.” They can agree on that, at least.

Hours later, she has practiced her saber forms, meditated, caught up on the newsfeeds, and exchanged perfunctory and deliberately vague messages with Rose and Poe. It’s evening now, so Ben will be eating his dinner with Darth Plagueis. Rey munches her own rations on the _Falcon_ before she luxuriates in the pleasure of a hot shower. Then, she unwinds her trio of hair buns and dons the pink dress. Ben will be coming soon for that holochess rematch. She’s looking forward to it. 

Sure enough, Rey hears footsteps just as she senses Ben’s approach in the Force. But rather than venture forth to meet him, she lingers in the bedroom. She’s been trying on the pink dress every night alone like this, trying to grow accustomed to the girl in the mirror. Struggling to see herself as something more than the scavenger turned Resistance fighter. Wanting to graduate from unkept girl to coolly poised woman. It’s all in the context of wondering what’s next for her once the Republic is re-established. What will her public role be while she secretly trains with Ben from time to time? Poe is pushing for her to take a Senate advisory position in something akin to the way the Jedi High Council once advised the Old Republic Chancellor. 

Could she do that? Could an uneducated former scavenger with only the basics of Jedi training be the voice of conscience to the new Senate? If so, she will need to wear clothes like this pink dress. She had better get used to it so citizens and Senators alike take her seriously.

“Rey?” It’s Ben filling the doorway. He flashes that lopsided smirk that is very Han Solo. His eyes are intense as they look her up and down in the dress.

“Hello.” Rey refuses to feel self-conscious. She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. This is exactly the sort of personal scrutiny she needs to get used to if she is to accept Poe’s offer.

“You still owe me a kiss. A proper kiss,” Ben begins as he leans against the door jam.

She ignores him, turning back around to face the mirror. “How’s your leg?”

“Better. Getting off of it helped.”

“Good.”

He pushes off the wall now and walks forward to stand behind her facing the mirror. Ben catches her eye in the reflection as he looms tall over her shoulder. Rey is reminded now of Lady Vader’s wrongful assumption that they were a romance. She had chosen Ben’s princely black garments to helm the First Order. The dress Rey wears was selected for the young woman who would stand at his side as a consort. That means the pair staring back at her in the mirror are the young power couple who Lady Vader erroneously hoped would someday rule the galaxy. It gives Rey pause. 

Ben fills the silence. “I love you in this dress. You’re beautiful.”

She shrugs off the comment, secretly pleased but too sheepish to let on. “It’s just a dress.” 

“You can’t accept a compliment, can you?”

She looks down and fusses with her skirt.

“It’s for the same reason you can’t acknowledge a kiss,” he accuses.

“Don’t start,” she growls as she steps away. “Let’s play dejarik. I worked on the table last night. It should work fine.”

“Rey.” Ben catches her arm as she steps away. 

She freezes, looking pointedly at his restraining grip. For all Ben’s sword swinging violence and Force transgressions, never once has he physically manhandled her. 

“Rey.” He says her name softer this time as his hand loosens. He steps forward and now they are right back where they were last night. He’s too close. She’s in his space. They are a heartbeat away from another kiss. 

“We need to stop doing this,” she whispers up at him, her pulse quickening. Ben’s very nearness has a magnetic pull that sets her heart racing. 

“Don’t fight the will of the Force,” he replies. Then his lips descend on hers and Rey can no longer form cogent thoughts. She’s too enraptured. 

Tempting as this is, it is too dangerous, too risky. She and Ben aren’t really friends. At best, they are uneasy allies. She’s Light . . . mostly. And he’s Dark . . . though not entirely. He led the First Order while she opposed him as champion of the Republic. She wants to rebuild the Jedi Order. He argues to let the past die. But when he calls her beautiful, she believes him. He even died saving her on Exogol. And in Ben’s arms now she feels the belonging she has wanted for so long. Maybe she is fooling herself, but it’s too good a feeling to resist. Ben doesn’t even need to try to seduce her. Just being himself is all it takes.

He pulls back and they both stand with chests heaving. “You’re right, we should stop,” Ben mumbles halfheartedly. 

But she has reconsidered. “No. Don’t stop,” Rey commands softly, reaching up to pull his mouth back down to hers. She wants more of this forbidden new pleasure.

It’s all the encouragement he needs. Ben’s hands begin to roam her body freely, taking shameless advantage of the thin silk of her dress. Things escalate fast from there. His hands cup at her breasts and squeeze her waist before they venture lower. And now, Rey finds himself moaning against his mouth. This is the passion she has read about and seen depicted on the holonet that she finally feels for herself.

“Make me stop . . . tell me to stop . . . ” he rasps into her neck. He’s raining kisses down her throat as she arches to give him more access.

“Don’t stop. Never stop,” she gasps back. This feels amazing. It’s the adrenaline rush of combat but with a different sort of danger. All around them, the Force feels charged with possibilities. Like something important is about to happen. 

They’re in the captain’s quarters of the _Falcon_ , which must at one point have been Ben’s parents’ master bedroom. But tonight, that bed is the soft surface where they both land after stumbling back in the fumbling, awkward heat of inexperienced but enthusiastic lust. Soon her pretty dress is twisted up around her thighs as Ben’s tentative hands explore upwards. She’s terrified and excited. They both know where this is heading. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Ben confesses, his long face vulnerable as he hovers over her.

“Neither do I. But how hard can it be?” she answers. Between the two of them, they can figure it out. She’s all in for anything and everything at this point. She can’t get enough of Ben. And, well, she’s always had impulsive tendencies. Plus, she’s stubborn about things she wants.

But he has misgivings. Ben pulls back and sits up. Suddenly, he’s very serious. The rush of wild abandon has passed. No one’s getting swept away in the moment now. Things are very deliberate between them. “Are you sure you want this?”

She understands his words but hears their meaning as reluctance. Rey gulps and reacts, “You don't want me . . . ” She’s being let down easy. “Right,” she pretends not to care as inwardly all of her insecurities rush up to overwhelm her. Embarrassed, she tugs at her twisted dress as she pulls away.

“No--no! I just want you to be sure,” Ben yelps. “Search your feelings.”

Search her feelings? Really? Jedi talk at a moment like this? Now, Ben has definitely killed the mood. “This isn’t training,” she grumbles.

“I know. But I want you to say it. Say that you will let bygones be bygones.”

She sits up now too. “Ben—“

“I don’t want to do this and have you condemn me tomorrow for the past.” 

Oh. One look at Ben’s indignant yet hopeful face tells her that this is very important. His comment this morning hadn’t been anywhere near as casual as he pretended. She knew that, of course.

Rey swallows hard. Is this the moment she has been hoping for? The moment of redemption and reconciliation that will bring them into true accord. Is he—could he—be asking for forgiveness? After all those second chances, is Ben finally ready to accept? Has all the Light Side knowledge he has been teaching her left its mark on him as well? If so, she has to encourage him. She dares not turn him down. And so, Rey begins with her own mea culpa, “We’ve both made mistakes . . .”

“Say it!” he hisses. Ben’s always so intense. Never more so than now.

She nods. “We can’t change the past . . . ”

“Say it!” 

Fine. She tells him what she tried to tell him once before in the elevator to Snoke’s throne room, only this time without all the posturing and one-upmanship. Looking in his eyes, she promises, “I want to help you. Let me help you and I will forgive you.” She can’t speak for the Resistance, but she can speak for herself. Rey reaches to grip both his hands, squeezing them. “Then, we can move forward.”

He searches her eyes, as if gauging her sincerity as he decides. He warns, “I won’t be a prisoner to the past.”

“That’s why I am here. So you can train me so we can balance the Force. So however the Light and Dark evolve, they can be better than before.” She’s not ready to throw out all the Jedi knowledge, but she recognizes the need for reform. And she’s learning to appreciate that Darkness has its place as well.

Ben nods slowly. He seems mostly satisfied with that answer. “So be it,” he replies solemnly.

The formal response makes Rey nervous. Because what began as a hot make-out session now feels like a negotiation. Like they are back in Snoke’s throne room haggling over the future of the galaxy. This conversation seems more like the prelude to a merger of equals than it does two young people going to bed together. 

But that’s clearly where this is going because Ben now stands up. Rey watches in silence as he reaches up to unclasp his cape. Then, he begins to unbuckle his tunic. When he is stripped to the waist, he stops and looks to her.

She takes the cue to stand and unzip her dress. But her earlier boldness has faded and she is shy about slipping it off.

“Don't be afraid. Let me see you.” He lifts the dress off her shoulders to slide down. It puddles at her feet. She’s left standing there barefoot in faded cotton panties. She never wears a bra, so Rey feels very exposed. The fancy princess gown is off and beneath it is just regular her. Skinny, flat chested her, complete with plenty of scars and sun damaged skin courtesy of Jakku.

But Ben doesn’t seem to realize it. He smiles down at her. It’s the same wholly genuine smile she remembers from Exogol. The one that melted her heart . . . and then broke it when he died. “I have wanted this from the moment I first met you in the woods. I have wanted us to be together for so long.”

“I shot at you on Takodana,” she recalls bluntly.

“That’s how I knew you were the girl for me,” Ben answers, unperturbed. “You were Light to my Darkness . . . an equal to push back for balance . . . the answer to everything I needed . . . “

Enough talk of the Force. Rey steps forward into his eager embrace. Warm bare skin meets warm bare skin, and female meets male. In a heartbeat, their earlier urgent passion reignites. There is no talking now.

There is no stopping either. Her panties slip off and he unclothes completely as well. It takes a try or two. But she is wet and ready for him, and he is hard and engorged. There is a little discomfort at first, but Rey gets past that fast as she revels in the raw physicality of their union. Ben is heavy atop her and forceful as he thrusts. She is no passive vessel beneath him, however, as she instinctively meets his movements with her own. Their mating dance is in some ways another version of their swordplay. But they improvise a rhythm and find an angle that maximizes the friction as they apply their youthful best efforts. It all culminates in her gasping, choking, eyes-squeezed-tight surge of pleasure. Not long afterwards, Ben practically shrieks as he finds his own release. The mystery of sex has been solved for both of them. And it’s a wonderfully joyous discovery, even if it lacks polish and sophistication. 

This is the most physically close, emotionally intimate, vulnerable and trusting that Rey has ever been with another person. It’s quite threatening, actually. In the aftermath as Ben lays collapsed and panting on her, Rey must resist the urge to push him off. To push him away. 

“Thank you,” he breathes into her ear before he kisses her deeply and finally—thankfully—rolls off.

They are laying side by side now. That actually helps. Just that little bit of physical distance from Ben reduces her anxiety. Rey feels emotionally claustrophobic as she processes what they have just done. What is she feeling? It’s not regrets exactly. It’s more like pressure. Rey is worried for what tonight means. And for what it will encourage Ben to expect.

  
  
Sure enough, he goes right there. “We will need to leave very soon.”

_We_. 

  
  
He first broached this topic last night. But admittedly, she did say that she would stay until he had healed enough to leave with her. Still, they never discussed things beyond the vague idea that they would jointly oppose Darth Sidious. They have never discussed the details of what that means.

  
  
“Are you sure you’re healed enough?” she tries to stall.

  
  
“I’m fine. Every day is better.”

  
  
“Where would we go?”

  
  
“Someplace remote. Neutral, if possible. We can get regular jobs and live like normal people. You may have to change your hair or something. You’re pretty recognizable.”

  
  
When she says nothing, he continues. “We’ll also need to change our names and invent a past. I don’t care what the story is, as long as we commit to it. It should probably be generic. Just something to explain where we come from, how we met, when we got married . . . Things like that.”

  
  
“M-Married?” she whispers, still staring at the ceiling.

  
  
Ben apparently has things all planned out. “We’ll be just another young couple making our way in the galaxy. The goal is to be very ordinary. We just want to fit in. To meet expectations and be forgettable.”

  
  
“Oh.” She gulps.

  
  
Ben must sense her growing panic because he soothes, “I don’t care if we make it official or not. I understand that I’ll be a fugitive if anyone figures out who I am, so it’s your call whether you want us to legally marry. Your commitment is enough for me.”

  
  
“C-Commitment?” she whispers hoarsely.

  
  
“Yes.” He turns on his side and reaches for her hand. He laces his fingers in hers and clasps them tightly. “You and me, working together in hiding to balance the Force. I will protect you, you will protect me. We both will protect our eventual children and students.”

  
  
“C-Children?” she chokes. 

  
  
He nods, his expression very serious. “The Force is strong in my family . . . our family,” he corrects himself. “One day, we must pass on what we learn. That will be especially important if we cannot defeat Darth Sidious. All the knowledge of the Force will die with us if we don’t pass it on.”

  
“There is Plagueis,” she suggests weakly.

  
  
“He’s not enough.”

  
  
“He’s immortal.”

  
  
“That’s what he claims. But clearly, he can be hurt. Look at the guy. Besides, he’s not a Chosen One. He can’t balance the Force or he would have done it already. Rey, if we fail, the Skywalker bloodline must continue for there to be hope for the galaxy.”

Ben has a point. Rey swallows hard and tries to tamp down her burgeoning misgivings. But as he keeps speaking, the future Ben envisions has more and more worrisome conditions.

  
  
“This is a fresh start but it must also be a clean break,” he warns.

  
  
“You mean I can’t tell my friends?”

  
  
“We have to remain a secret.” Ben is firm. 

She loosens the hand he’s holding, snatching it back. “You mean you have to remain a secret.” He’s the fugitive, not her.

  
  
Ben doesn’t take the rebuff. Instead, he snakes one long, muscled arm around her, scooping her close into the shelter of his side turned body. Who knew Kylo Ren would be a snuggler? The embrace is okay . . . well, maybe even sort of nice . . . but part of Rey feels a trapped. It’s by his expectations as much as by his body.

  
  
“You were right last night,” he tells her as he nuzzles her neck. “There is no place for me in the Republic. Besides, Sidious probably already has spies there like he did in the First Order.”

  
  
She objects. “Oh, I think not—“

  
  
“Believe it. He famously played both sides of the Clone Wars. What makes you think he’s not playing both sides of this war as well?”

  
  
She has no rebuttal to that logic. Ben’s insight reminds her again of the advantage of having a Sith oppose a Sith. Ben knows how the enemy thinks since he was his proxy Apprentice for years. It’s a good reminder that Rey needs this man as her ally if she is to prevail. Ben’s skills are the reason she came here in the first place and the reason she stayed when he at first attempted to chase her away. But somehow in only a matter of few weeks, their alliance has become very personal. 

  
  
Ben has her tucked under his chin now. His voice soft and husky in her ear. “Rey, if he finds us, he will use our dyad again. Now more than ever, he will need our combined power to rejuvenate himself.”

  
  
“So I have to leave everything behind for you?” she restates his terms out loud. 

  
  
“It’s for us. For the future and for the galaxy as well.” 

He’s sincere in his appeal to her altruism. But he’s also strategic laying on the guilt. It’s a pitch she’s heard from him before—abandon the Resistance if you wish to save it. Yet again, Rey can’t really refute his logic.

But he’s moving so fast. Too fast. It’s very Ben. For this is the very same man who offered her anything and everything as he stood with mutilated Snoke at his feet. They barely knew each other back then and yet he was proposing they govern the galaxy together. Rey didn’t ask any questions in the throne room, but she implicitly understood the enormity of the moment. For when a Dark Sider negotiates to share power, it’s serious business. Everyone knows there is no greater priority for a Sith than power.

Here again tonight, it’s all talk of power and the Force. For it has not escaped her notice that there is no mention of love in all Ben’s plans. It is deflating. Part of Rey can’t help but feel rejected despite his grand heroic plans for their future together.

_Will you love me?_ That’s all she really wants to know, but she’s afraid to ask. Because she could be convinced to run away to hide with Ben, including leaving behind the Resistance and her friends, if he would promise to love her . . . if the marriage and children he spoke of were real and not just a ruse and his duty to the Force. _Will you love me?_ It’s all she ever wanted on Jakku. As a child, she dreamed of the love of a family who would appear to rescue her from hardship. As she matured, that dream remained but another opportunity emerged as well. If she couldn’t find her family, maybe she could make a new family of her own. A husband and children could fill the aching void of loneliness instead of her long-lost parents. 

Is this it? Is Ben her chance? He thinks so, and he claims the Force wills it as their destiny. But Rey is less persuaded by talk of fate than she is by free will. What does Ben want for himself? _Will you love me?_ Is he choosing her or letting the Force choose for him? Ben might not see a difference, but she does. For the orphaned, much scorned scavenger girl from Jakku very much desires to be wanted. 

She’s direct by nature in many things but not in this. For this is not the sort of question Rey feels she can pose even though it’s a dealmaker or dealbreaker for Ben’s whole scheme. She fears looking pitiful by begging for affection that ought to be spontaneously given. Asking the question is to provoke the answer that will give her the justification to accept. But that’s not what she wants. 

Rey grew up negotiating in Jakku’s barter economy. She’s no stranger to making deals and accepting less than she wants But frankly, she’s giving up far too much in Ben’s scenario not to get a sincere promise of affection.

So, she tentatively prods, “What about us?”

“Us?” he echoes. 

“Us.” She refuses to be more specific.

He must sense her unease because he starts backtracking now. “You can set the terms. Don’t let the word marriage scare you off. Call us whatever you like. Husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, partners, whatever. If you want to be roommates for the public, that’s fine. I guess brother and sister would be okay as well for now . . . I defer to you.”

That’s not giving her reassurance. 

“There is one thing I will insist on.”

“Yes?” she asks hopefully.

“When we are safely away from Plagueis, I want to reestablish the bond.”

The bond. Again, he’s talking about their Force, not themselves.

“We are stronger together and safer together. I think in time, as we live and train together, the bond will grow even stronger than before. Our dyad has amazing potential.”

He’s right. But again, the words land flat. Maybe she’s being exceedingly selfish in the moment, but Rey can’t help but perceive this decision as her one and only chance for love. Because once she disappears into hiding with Ben—especially if they bridge their minds—how will she ever be able to find someone else? How could she possibly explain to another man that Kylo Ren can hear her thoughts but don’t worry because it won’t compromise their relationship? Rey knows with certainty that would be a lie. The bond will make Ben a permanent interloper in her life again until one of them dies. That seemed unavoidable before, but this time the bond is an affirmative choice. Does she want this? She’s not sure.

“I don’t know about the bond . . .” she hedges. 

He is hurt. “You don’t want us bonded?”

“I sort of got used to not having it . . .”

“I miss it. Don’t you?”

“Do we really need it?”

“Think of all the power it will give us. Think of how much easier it will make training,” Ben replies.

His answer is the Force . . . it’s always the Force for Ben. Even something as intimate as the bond he thinks of in terms of strategy. And who is she fooling? This man was trained by a Sith Lord to wield the Dark Force. Strategy and power trump everything for him. For as he has both shown her and told her time and again, he’s still very much Kylo Ren. Tonight, naked and held close in his arms, is just the latest example. 

“Think about the bond. It’s important. But we don’t have to decide now.”

“Yeah, okay . . .” With relief, she immediately accepts his punt. 

Ben drops a kiss on head. “I hear your mind working.”

She doesn’t deny it. 

“I sense great fear in you.”

“It’s true,” she admits. She’s afraid of this decision to leave with Ben and what it means for her future. She’s afraid of Darth Sidious lurking out there somewhere. She’s also very afraid of that vision of herself on the Dark Side.

Ben soothes, “You have always had fear and anger. The Dark Side is in your nature, like it’s in mine. I can help you learn to manage it so you don’t become Luke.”

That sounds so ominous. Rey gulps. “I don’t want to become Luke.” Luke was alone. For years and years, he was alone. It’s a fate she will do anything to avoid.

Her mind must be screaming out her thoughts because even without the intense connection of the bond, Ben knows what she’s thinking. “You’re not alone. You have me. And with the bond, you will have me forever, no matter what happens. Even if we are forced to separate at some point.”

She wiggles in his arms now, turning to face him. This conversation keeps provoking more anxiety. Feeling panicky, she shuts it down. “Ben, don’t talk. Just hold me.”

It works for a moment before he resumes his planning. While stroking her hair, he wonders, “How much fuel do we have? We have a long way to go to get back to civilization . . .”

“It will be enough,” she mumbles into his chest.

“I want to get that sword from the vault. If we leave tomorrow after Vanee returns, then—“

Frustrated, she kisses Ben to shut him up. Tonight was perfect until he began planning for their looming reality. All his talk of decisions ruined the afterglow fast. Rey has no rose-colored glasses. She’s dealt with ugly practicalities all her life. But it encroached too quickly tonight on what should have been a special moment. Now, Rey feels pressured and uncertain. 

Ben takes the kiss as a cue to resume their passion. “Let’s make sure you’ll never be a celibate Jedi,” he whispers. He is ready for round two, and Ben’s body is the comfort she needs right now.

This time, there is less trepidation. They are both far from experienced—there is still much fumbling and some awkwardness—but there is also hedonistic abandon and no small amount of intentional escapism on Rey’s part.

If nothing else, she and Ben have this. Brief and primal though it is, it’s wonderful. This is lust, not true love. There are no endearments or declarations spoken between them. But Rey feels certain that Ben cares for her. Just like how she cares for him, despite all he has done. Ben is many things, and not all of them are good. But some of them are. 

Tonight is not a moment of true accord—if anything, tonight has made clear the extent of their differences. Rey has a lot to think about. And so, when they are both spent a second time, she pushes him away. 

“I need to be alone,” she confesses, a little ashamed to meet his eyes. She doesn’t want to hurt him. “I need to think.”

“I know.” He seems to expect her request. “I’ll give you your space.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you around—“

“I know,” he overrides her sputtering explanation. Leaning forward to kiss her goodbye, he assures her, “I know you need your distance.”

He rises from the bed to dress. She watches in increasingly troubled silence. Does he know how torn she feels? He must. Because before Ben leaves, he tells her, “I’m trusting you. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow to learn you fled in the night without me.”

It’s a line she’s heard before. “I won’t,” she promises. It’s the only commitment she’s ready to make. And even it’s not an easy one. 

He nods. “We leave tomorrow after I get a sword.”


	12. chapter 12

She’s late. Where is she?

Kylo stands before the windows waiting for Rey to arrive for their daily training. Given what transpired between them last night, he’s nervous. He has to force himself not to pace. Instead, he grips his hands into tight fists as he stares out at the _Millennium Falcon_ ’s lowered boarding ramp.

He has no experience with how the morning after is supposed to work. But after Rey basically threw him out last night, he has lowered his expectations for a sappy romantic reunion that will rekindle the afterglow. In fact, he’s fully expecting that Rey will ignore last night until he raises it.

Last night was . . . well, it was both amazing and dissatisfying. Amazing because sex feels so good. He has long worried that his first-timer status might diminish him in a woman’s eyes. That she would assume his power and status to equate to a smooth and experienced lover. Because the Supreme Leader can have his pick of women, so he ought to have sown his wild oats. Except that never happened. Thank the Force that Rey didn’t seem to care. She was a virgin too, which seemed almost perfect. They learned together. No one was embarrassed. 

But did he let down her expectations? He feels a little let down. In hindsight, he fretted over the mechanics of sex when he should have worried over the meaning. He just always assumed that if he and Rey ever went to bed, it would be a climactic emotional catharsis. They would exchange endearments and promises. The Force would approve. It would be momentous for them personally and for the galaxy. But it wasn’t. Enthusiastic though she was, Rey was conspicuously silent. He did all the talking. She’s always been distant at times, so that’s nothing new. But it left him wanting. There’s just something deflating about being in bed with a girl you’re crazy about and she can’t seem to reciprocate beyond kisses. Is she really that emotionally stunted? 

He worries that last night scratched the surface of a much deeper problem. Either he’s way more into Rey than she is into him, and their night together meant something different for each of them. Or, she’s just not ready or able to state her feelings. He had always assumed that they were both needy in their own ways. But maybe that’s wrong. Maybe he’s needy for attention and commitment she can’t or won’t give him. 

He is a very emotional guy, but he’s not good with emotions. It’s the consequence of having been raised Jedi. From a young age, he was told to suppress his feelings, a task for which he was especially unsuited. But when he flipped Dark as a young man, that all changed. He was told to unleash the power of his desires to stoke his Force. Now, he alternately bottles up his anxieties and lets them run rampant. It’s an ebb and flow of strong feelings that can seem abrupt to the unaware. But what appears to the outside observer as a violent tantrum is the only way he can cope. The cycle typifies what’s wrong with the old religions, Kylo firmly believes. Because be the creed Jedi or Sith, it inevitably promotes extremes. He feels victimized by both ideologies. It makes him determined to chase the elusive concept of balance. 

And that’s why he is determined to make things work with Rey. All he really needs is for Rey to give up the Resistance to be with him and work for balance. The rest of the ideas he threw out last night are negotiable. Well, basically, Rey can name her terms. He’s ready and willing to capitulate. But he frets now because she is very late for their daily training session. 

Where is she??

Did she lie awake half the night reliving their interlude? Did she glory in the remembrance of their lovemaking? Has she worried that she erred in what she said or what she failed to say in the intensity of the moment? Because he did all of those things into the wee hours. And now, all he can do is fret some more. Sex was supposed to seal the deal for their future together. But now in the morning after, things seem as unsettled as ever. 

With Rey, he can never be certain if his intentions are understood. That’s partly her lack of trust, but also their very skew perspectives. He believed Rey last night when she said she wants to move forward. But he worries now that he wrongly assumed those words and their subsequent passion to be the basis for a commitment. Could they have talked past one another? When he left last night, Rey was upset. He didn’t know whether it was from regret, confusion, or rejection. Her mind was a mess of contradictions every time he took a peek.

Is she coming? No. The ramp is still empty. Looking for something—anything—to do, he smooths a hand over his hair. He carefully combed it down to make it look neat. He hopes she notices. He wants to look his best self as he states his case again this morning.

He has been exceedingly patient to avoid scaring Rey off. He has offered his opinions, but not insisted on them. It’s a lowkey approach that is very unlike him, but he wants Rey to come around to his way of thinking on her own. It’s been working. For while she says she’s committed to the Resistance, she’s been gone from them well over a month. This is a very critical time for their cause to be without their Jedi, but Rey seems fine with that. It tells him that his arguments about balancing the Force have made headway. It tells him that she values his training. Going to bed together last night was also an important step. Putting aside its personal meaning, the act is proof that Rey has already broken with the old Jedi Code. His strategic mind can’t help but conclude that Rey is moving away her cause, her friends, and her ideals. That’s all good news for him.

Maybe he could have closed the deal last night, but he didn’t want to push. He didn’t dare risk a second rejection if she felt too pressured. And he didn’t want to ruin a special evening. But that’s over and his leg is suitably healed, so it’s time to go. He doesn’t trust Darth Plagueis. He and Rey have lingered here too long already. It is time to reach agreement and take action.

Is she coming? What’s taking so long? He keeps checking and it’s stressing him out.

“My Daughter is late today.” It’s Darth Plagueis plodding into the room.

“Is she? I hadn’t noticed,” Kylo pretends.

The Sith Master raises an eyebrow but doesn’t call him on the lie. Instead, he disses Rey in his usual disapproving-but-still-indulgent fatherly sort of way. “She’s a lot to handle, that one.”

Nervous Kylo vents, “All she knows is conflict. It’s her default setting. She only understands opposition.” At times, Rey seemed totally befuddled by what he proposed last evening. Like she wanted to accept, but didn’t know how to actually agree with him.

“That is her life of deprivation showing. The legacy of Jakku will last a lifetime.”

“I hope not,” he sighs under his breath.

Plagueis hears him. “It will. Take it from an old Sith. I know a thing or two about pain. Yes, pain empowers,” the old Master quotes the time-honored Dark maxim, “but only so much and only for so long. There are limits to what Darkness can achieve. Those yellow eyes our forefathers so prized bore witness to as much fragility as strength.”

“Why don’t you have yellow eyes?” Kylo has wondered this for some time. 

“They have faded through the years as I have pulled back from Darkness,” Plagueis answers. “I can disguise them now, whereas before they were constant.” 

“Show me.”

“As you wish.” Darth Plagueis blinks and reveals gleaming yellow eyes. They are the color of an apex predator stalking its victim in the night. It’s a sickly, jaundiced hue that looks as painful as it does scary. And also, strangely weak with their bloodshot character.

Kylo makes a face. “Does that hurt?”

“Darkness hurts plenty,” the Muun answers glibly, shooting him a sideways glance. “You know that.”

“I don’t have yellow eyes . . .” Despite Snoke’s best efforts, he was never a proper Sith.

“That is a good thing, Apprentice. It speaks to how much Light remains in you.”

“Did my grandfather have yellow eyes?” Kylo wonders. Vader was the original Skywalker, after all.

“That is a question for Vanee or Astral. I never saw my son without the mask,” Plagueis sighs.

“I wish I’d known him . . .” Kylo cringes once he realizes he spoke that thought aloud.

But the Sith Master by his side doesn’t fault him for the hero worship Snoke once encouraged. “You are much like him for reasons that have nothing to do with a mask or an empire. You have his idealism and his heart, in addition to his power. Sheev Palpatine was quite terrified of his Apprentice.”

“Because he was the Chosen One,” Kylo supplies the obvious reason.

“Yes. But also because Lord Vader was extremely effective. The man could achieve almost anything. It’s why Sheev kept him on a very short leash. Unfettered Lord Vader was an existential threat.”

“You’re unfettered. Why isn’t this your big moment?” Kylo broaches a topic he probably shouldn’t touch—what Plagueis really has planned.

The towering Muun grunts. “This is my big moment. Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kylo growls.

“Lord Ren, my progeny have toppled governments and ruled the galaxy . . . all to fail in time. Those goals are ephemeral. Do not chase them. The only lasting achievement is to rule the Force. Long have I waited for my ideas to be put into practice, for the promise of balance long foretold to reach fruition. You and my Daughter will be the ones to do it. You will be legendary,” he purrs with relish.

“Conveniently, it also achieves your revenge on Sidious,” Kylo observes.

Darth Plagueis’ answering smile is sly. “My former Apprentice went rogue generations ago and he still bedevils me. I shall be delighted to see him meet the Force. It is a win-win, is it not? I win and the galaxy wins.”

“That’s the best possible spin you could put on it,” Kylo replies dryly.

“It is your revenge as well,” his host points out. “Sidious made you a slave to his puppet Snoke, stole the First Order out from under you, and killed your girlfriend.”

Is Rey his girlfriend? Kylo hopes so. But the longer it takes her to show her face this morning, the more uncertain he becomes.

Plagueis keeps explaining his scheme. “My Daughter will view killing Sidious as justice for Alderaan, Hosnia, and the Republic. He’s an old school Sith that the Jedi wannabe in her can easily rationalize killing.” 

Kylo has to acknowledge Plagueis’ wily brilliance. All the right incentives are in place. He and Rey even teamed up on Exogol of their own accord to oppose Sidious. So getting them to ally for a second attempt doesn’t seem like much of a stretch. Both he and Rey still want to save the galaxy. The problem is that they have very different visions of what that means. 

Even now, Kylo keeps peeking over Plagueis’ shoulder out the window, hoping to see Rey stride down the ramp of the _Falcon_. She’s never been this late before. He’s giving her five more minutes and then he is boarding the ship to fetch her.

Old Plagueis keeps droning on. “There is an ancient legend of the Force from before the days of the old Sith Empire . . . it predates even the early days of the original Republic. It speaks of a Father, his Daughter, and a Son. They were a feuding bunch at times, like all families. The siblings loved one another even as they bickered. And they respected their Father even if they didn’t always agree with him. The Son skewed Dark, with tendencies to violence. The Daughter skewed Light, with a penchant for moralizing. The Father kept the peace between them both as a buffer. He was the balance between them.”

“And you think you are this Father figure?” Kylo surmises.

“I can only hope,” Plagueis answers. “Ah! Here she comes.” The Muun turns expectantly towards the window.

“Rey’s coming?” He gulps down his nervous excitement as he peeks around his host’s shoulder. Sure enough, Jakku’s most famous scavenger trots down the ramp and across the landing pad. 

There is a faint smile tugging at the lips of old Plagueis. “I will leave you two alone.”

“Wait—you’re going?”

“Apprentice, you’re on your own for this conversation.” The comment leaves Kylo wondering just how much the old guy knows. “I’d wish you good luck but well . . . you know . . .” the Muun chuckles.

Kylo groans. For every Force user knows, “There’s no such thing as luck.”

“There is the Force. May the Force be with you.” Plagueis then adds man-to-man, “Be ruthless as you woo her. Women don’t always know what they want. When in doubt, promise them everything.”

Kylo feels his face flame. Now, he’s certain that Plagueis knows the gist of what transpired last night.

The Muun vacates the room and now it’s just him.

“Rey.” She walks in and her face and the Force tell him that she’s as nervous as he is. And actually, that’s sort of a relief. 

“Good morning.” She doesn’t smile. 

“How are you?” Is she going to acknowledge last night?

No, she doesn’t. It’s like every other intimacy they have shared—Rey pretends it never happened. She stands halfway across the room and answers, “I’m fine.” Even he knows that for a lie. Women are never fine when they say they’re fine. Usually, they are anything but fine.

But he lets it slide. He’s prepared to ignore all awkwardness with aplomb. “Good. So, are we—“

“I’ll drop you anywhere you want,” she interrupts, her words coming out in a rush. “Name the system.”

Kylo’s eyes narrow. “We are leaving together.” 

“Yes. And then, I’ll drop you off on my way to Coruscant.”

“Coruscant,” he repeats softly.

“Yes, Coruscant. I’m going back to the Resistance.”

Fuck. This is not good. He clenches his fists, and fights to keep his cool. All along, he has known she is a flight risk. But fleeing to her friends seems like an especially personal rejection after last night. 

“I will keep your secret,” Rey promises. “I won’t tell anyone that you’re alive or where you hide.”

“We are doing this together.”

“Yes. I will sneak away to see you when I can. We can train together then. But I want to help the Resistance end the war and set up the new government. At least until they get things up and running . . . ”

He swallows his immediate objection and asks, “How long is that?” Is she talking weeks? Months? He might be able to let her delay some if that’s what it will take.

She answers, “Until there is a new Senate.”

“That could be a year.”

“I think the current timetable is fourteen to eighteen months.”

He digests this news, wondering, “What are you personally going to do planning elections?”

That’s when her answers go from bad to worse. “Poe Dameron has asked me to be the liaison to the Senate. Sort of like how the Jedi High Council used to advise the Chancellor in the days of the Old Republic. There will be an interim Chancellor appointed soon—probably one of the Senate survivors who was off-world from Hosnia. They will hold office temporarily until the elections when the Senate will pick a new Chancellor for a full term. Poe wants me on Coruscant to work with the interim Chancellor, and then eventually their replacement.”

“I see,” he hisses, his eyes hard. “So you’re everyone’s token Jedi now?”

She flushes at his derision. “It’s a nod to the past, I know. I’m not sure the position will have any true power, but Poe seems to think it will be what I make of it.”

He could care less about ceremonial duties and feel-good advisor status. He cares about one thing: “Does the position include rebuilding the Jedi Order?”

“That’s where you come in. You and I will work together to balance the Force to safeguard the Republic from Darth Sidious.” 

“That’s not what I asked.”

Rey fidgets. “You said yourself that we must pass on what we learn. So, at some point, I will take on students. But the new Jedi Order I create won’t be like the past,” she hastens to assure him. “It will reflect what we discover.”

“We?”

She nods but adds, “You’ll have to remain in the background.”

Well, obviously. Under her scenario, he’s her dirty, Dark secret. Kylo glares at her.

Rey starts making her case. “Think of it as a reformation of the Jedi way. We throw out the bad parts and keep the good. The emphasis will be on balance and respect for both sides of the Force.”

“But it will be allied with the Republic and called Jedi?” he counters.

“I was thinking of going back to the ancient Je’daii name.”

“As in the Je’daii of Tython?”

“Yes. I read about them in Luke’s books.”

Of course, she did. “Then you read that the Je’daii Order and its quest for balance ultimately failed. Tython was a war zone on and off for thousands of years afterwards.”

“They may have failed at balance, but they tried for it,” Rey argues weakly. “Like we will try for it . . . ”

Her proposal is preposterous. “You want me—me!—to help you rebuild the Jedi Order from behind the scenes?”

“Don’t get hung up on what it’s called. It will be our teaching, not your uncle’s. We will be modern and moderate in our approach. No forbidden Dark Side—“

“No forbidden attachments?” he goads.

She flushes. “That’s right. We can take a fresh look at the entire Jedi Code.”

Does she hear what she’s saying? Can’t she see she is repeating Luke Skywalker’s failure? Kylo is beyond disappointed. He’s incensed. “You’re still holding on. Stop holding on!” he hollers.

Rey digs in. “I am trying to ground the future in the past. To give it a connection to the Jedi wisdom. Ben, if I could openly acknowledge your participation, I would! That way, it would be clear that we are combining the best of the two Force traditions, Jedi and Sith. But I can’t do that without risking you. And no one in the Republic is going to accept anyone trained by Snoke or Sidious as an authority figure on the Force. The Sith are too closely associated with the Empire and the First Order.”

“So I’m your Plagueis. The idea man in exile?” he surmises sourly.

“I envision our work to be truly collaborative.”

He dismisses her spin. “It’s the past all over again.” It’s precisely what he’s trying to avoid. 

“People understand the past,” Rey contends. “Look, no one will care what heresy I teach so long as we call ourselves Jedi and meet the public’s expectations for what we look like and what we do. We will be Jedi in name only in many respects.”

“But you’re the good guys, so it’s okay?”

“Well . . . yes.” She answers his sarcasm seriously. 

He hears the unspoken corollary loud and clear: that he’s the bad guy. Rey’s insistence on simplistic Jedi morality isn’t surprising, but it is discouraging. He thought they had moved past all of this. He thought she had come to see things in a more nuanced fashion.

He probably shouldn’t go there, but he has to know how this impacts them personally. So he hazards the question: “What about us?”

“I told you—I will hide you. I will protect you. We will work together—“

“With you on Coruscant and me in exile?” That doesn’t sound like a couple. It sounds very arm’s length.

She is defensive. “You know I wish things were different! But you’re the guy who destroyed Luke’s temple. How could you be acknowledged as a founding member of the new Jedi Order?”

He fumes in silence. Because she makes them sound like coworkers, not lovers. Like he’s her off-world Dark Side consultant she’ll bounce ideas off of from time to time. The problem is clear--he sullies her shiny Resistance heroine brand. 

“I’d be taking an awful risk doing this,” she reminds him. “A lot of people might view what I’m doing as treason. But I think under the circumstances, it’s the right choice.”

_Under the circumstances . . ._ Yep, she definitely views this as a strategic political decision and not a personal commitment. Rey doesn’t even seem torn about leaving him behind for the Republic. Duty calls and she goes running. Rey is not quite cold in her delivery of the bad news, but she is pragmatic and brusque. It hurts. They were supposed to do this together. So much for his sheepish romantic dreams of an epic love affair. So much for his hopes for a secret, forbidden union that would make history.

It’s yet another rejection and it’s a highly personal one. This isn’t a rebuff in Snoke’s throne room after an impromptu vaguely political, vaguely religious, vaguely romantic overture while the outcome of a war hung in the balance. This is Rey turning down a future together with him, uncomplicated by galactic politics, focused entirely on a mission to balance the Force and defeat Darth Sidious. He didn’t dictate the terms. He left things open. He was trying to make her happy. Last night, he attempted to spell out what he needed from her—namely, her acceptance and buy-in that they would live free of the restraints of the Jedi and the Sith and separate and apart from the Republic and the First Order. In hiding, in exile, they would study, learn, and teach. They would be together and one day maybe raise a family. It is the perfect plan since they would leave behind all of the things that made them enemies to plot a new future together. And yet, again he finds himself rejected. He feels deeply misled and very, very hurt.

Kylo sneers his disgust. “You just can’t let it die, can you? Let the past die!” he insists, pumping his fist. 

Rey shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t! You’re too afraid!” He shoots her a hard look. “You are putting a huge target on your back for Sidious—you realize that, right?”

She lifts her chin. “I’ll take the risk.”

Yes, of course, she will. This girl has Light Side martyr written all over her. It’s why she rushed to Exogol without him.

Kylo can feel his shoulders start to rise and fall as he clenches and unclenches his fists. It’s how he keeps control when his Darkness surges. “You didn’t think you should tell me any of this last night?” he chokes. _Last night before you fucked me and threw me out._

“I told you I needed to think . . . ” She doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You never had any intention of leaving to be with me, did you?” Damn, that sounded like he is whining . . . and maybe he is. But this is a huge loss for him personally and for the galaxy. Clearly, he has failed to persuade Rey of the merits of his views or of himself.

“Last night was the first time we discussed any of this with details,” she reminds him. “Don’t claim that you were misled.”

“I misled myself,” he realizes aloud. He misjudged the situation. He especially misjudged her. She doesn’t want him. At least, not as he is.

His burgeoning temper now overflows. Kylo rages, “I’m offering you everything and it’s not enough! You still need to be the new Luke Skywalker! You can’t let that Jedi hero role go!”

“Ben—“

“I don’t have an empire to offer you this time. But I didn’t think you cared about that—“

“I don’t.”

“I can’t offer you fame and position. I can’t compete with advising the Chancellor.”

“Ben—"

“All I can offer is training and myself. That’s not enough!” He turns away to pace, running a hand through his hair. Messing up the orderly presentation he had hoped would impress her. What a fool he has been in this and in everything.

He mutters, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You turned me down once before when I offered more.”

“I’m sorry, Ben. But I won’t go into exile with you. Not when the Republic needs me.” The Force tells him she is being honest with him. He can respect her for that, at least. 

“I think my plan is a good compromise,” Rey cajoles. “If you can look beyond the form to the substance, you will see it is meaningful change. More than ever, the galaxy needs hope and stability. A new, better version of the Jedi Order can help things. Ben,” she steps forward and extends her hand, “I want you to join me in this. I need your help.”

She’s so naively optimistic, he wants to cringe. She also thinks she’s being reasonable, which might be even worse.

“Just think about it,” she wheedles when he responds with sullen silence. “I won’t ask you to call yourself a Jedi. I won’t ask you to act on behalf of the Republic. You can be who you are—“

“The dead Supreme Leader of the beaten First Order??” he snaps. “The Dark Sider you keep hidden?” Frustrated, he complains, “When Sidious returns, it will be Jedi versus Sith all over again—“

“The New Jedi versus the Old Sith,” she corrects him. But she’s playing semantics. Rey still understands the Force in a moral dichotomy of Dark and Light. It’s everything he was trying to move past. 

He ceases his pacing now. He stares Rey down, glowering. “You disappoint me. You disappoint me greatly.”

She grinds out, “I am trying to find a middle ground.”

“There is no compromise here! This is Luke’s plan all over again.”

“No, it’s not!”

“It is! I won’t be a part of this!” He lays down an ultimatum with the only leverage he has. “If you move forward with your folly, I won’t be a part of it.”

Rey has the gall to look dismayed. “What are you saying?”

“No! I’m saying no! Count me out.” His offer was a package deal—him and his knowledge. Take it or leave it.

“But I can’t do it without you!” she sputters. “I don’t have the books. I need your help!”

“Not enough to do it my way,” he gripes.

They are at a standoff now. Each frustrated as the tension escalates. She looks as disappointed as he feels.

“You just can’t admit that you’ve lost, can you?” she fumes. “You’re unwilling to do anything that works with the Republic you hate . . .”

That’s not it. Well, maybe that’s partially it. But the issue is more fundamental: the Jedi need to end. He wants a clean break with the past. He appeals, “Rey, don’t do this. Don’t set yourself against the will of the Force—"

“The galaxy needs the Jedi—it needs heroes—just like it needs balance—“

“My uncle was a hero until he was the villain. So will it be with you.”

She takes umbrage. “You underestimate my power!”

“No, I don’t. I know how capable you are. But even you have limits to what you can discover on your own. You know the bare basics of the Light but you know nothing of the Dark Side. Careful, Rey,” he sneers. “Darkness is dangerous. It can consume you. And then, that vision you fear will come true.”

She plays it cool. “I can handle it.”

He calls her bluff. “Pride goes before the fall, Jedi.”

“Who’s a Jedi?” It’s Darth Plagueis storming in. Kylo has no doubt he’s been listening in all along. But the old Sith plays dumb. “There are no Jedi left.”

“There’s about to be a New Jedi Order led by your Daughter,” he announces grimly. 

Plagueis turns to Rey. “Is this true?” he booms in the same tone someone else might ask ‘are you a fucking idiot??’

“It’s true,” Rey answers. She turns back to him, daring to ignore the visibly pissed Plagueis. She tries to explain herself. “No one will ever accept you . . . not after what you and the First Order have done. Ben, you’ll be an outcast--a fugitive! I don’t want that life. Not when I can contribute on a level that Poe is offering.”

Kylo shoots her a withering look of contempt. “I guess you can’t do much actual damage since you’re so ignorant.”

“I’ll get him to teach me.” Rey gestures to Plagueis.

“Good luck with that,” Kylo predicts. He turns to the iconoclast Sith. “Tell Vanee to double check the lock on the vault. She’s a scavenger which is another name for thief. Watch those books and holochrons.”

Darth Plagueis now rumbles sternly, “Daughter, what foolishness is this?”

She keeps ignoring the Muun. “Ben—"

“You disappoint me . . . you disappoint me greatly!” Kylo rails again, this time at a roar. But he doesn’t stop there. He unloads with a crescendo of viciousness that evidences the intensity of his hurt. “You’re impulsive and immature which is a bad mix with your power . . . so desperate for approval and legitimacy to whitewash your trash background . . . you were nobody and now you get the chance to be somebody, but you can’t see it’s a trap . . . I’d call you naive, except you were warned. So I think that just leaves stubborn and arrogant!”

“Yeah?” she jeers. “Well, your cynicism is why the First Order lost! People want hope and happiness, not order. Exogol proved that when millions responded to our call. Ben, you were born to everything a child could ever need and you squandered it—all for power! All you love is power!”

“Luke—“

“You had plenty of chances after the Temple! You turned them all down! You were someone and now you’re no one . . . you want me to be no one with you. I guess misery really does love company,” she snarls.

He smirks. “You didn’t mind my company last night.”

Rey blinks and blushes. Then she turns away and mutters, “You’re the mistake I keep making . . . I know better . . . it won’t happen again.”

Damn right, it won’t. He taunts, “I’ve seen you shoot lightning--you’ll never be a Jedi. You’ll never be as good as Luke Skywalker.” She’s too Dark already.

“That’s fine!” Rey snaps. “Because you’ll never be as strong as Darth Vader!”

“Children! Cease this name calling! There are serious matters at stake to discuss.” Darth Plagueis has heard enough. 

But Kylo is just getting started. He’s done with disapproving, emotionally unavailable women in his life. He had a mother too busy to deal with him beyond complaints and lectures. He doesn’t need a girlfriend who also chooses the Republic over him. Staring back at Rey, Kylo realizes that the short time she trained with his mother had an enormous impact on her. Leia Organa is clearly Rey’s role model, along with Luke Skywalker in close second. His family might be gone, but their legacy remains alive and well. Kylo is heartsick now as he realizes that the past won’t ever die unless Rey dies too. And that’s not what he wants . . . that has never been what he wants. All along, he has been trying to persuade Rey to his side. To convince her to let the past die.

The flip side of hurt is fury. It consumes him now. Beckoning him back to Darkness, where strong emotions empower and pain lifts you up. After being reborn from the Force scant weeks ago and spending his days ever since groping back long forgotten Light Side skills, there is a heady comfort to the familiar and an ease to the tried and true. The Dark Side now welcomes him home. And damn, does it feel good. 

Plagueis senses it. Alarmed, he orders, “Stand down, Lord Ren.”

“Your eyes . . . “ Rey gasps. She stares in horror. “Ben, are you okay?”

He silences her concern with shot of Force lightning that escapes before he can stop it. It’s unleashed on instinct, for he wants to hurt the girl who hurts him. The shot of Dark power sweeps Rey off her feet. She lands flat in a sprawl with a deep grunt. She looks to have the wind knocked out of her, for she languishes there looking stunned.

“Apprentice!” Darth Plagueis barks sharply, “That’s enough!” The old Muun’s eyes flash the same feral yellow he saw earlier. There is no doubt that the exiled mastermind means business. He will not see his Daughter harmed. Well, that sentiment might be a lot more understandable were Rey not a violent scavenger who shoots and stabs men she goes to bed with. She’s no fragile flower in need of chivalrous protection. If anything, he’s the one in danger from this heartbreaking Jedi bitch. She deserves lightning and more.

Fuming Kylo is flush with rage and that makes him flush with power. The first promise of Darkness is that you can take whatever you want. He does that now with curt efficiency. 

“That lightsaber belongs to me.” He plucks his grandfather’s sword from Rey’s waist with the Force. When she reacts to resist, he throws her clear across the room with his power. Like the lightning, it’s not hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough to make his point.

“Apprentice!” Plagueis roars. Kylo feels a sudden, tight constriction at his throat. It’s a warning that releases as soon as it is felt.

Which is good because he’s not done yet. He jabs a finger towards the window through which the _Millennium Falcon_ is visible. “That ship belongs to me as well. I’m taking it now.”

“Where are you going?” Rey shrieks.

Where is he going? To finish what he started. To finish what his grandfather started. Namely, bringing peace and order to the galaxy and killing that fucker Darth Sidious. He will get his revenge and balance the Force . . . alone. He is a Chosen One and he doesn’t need help from some semi-literate orphan girl who constantly finds him wanting. Maybe this decision is proving the point that in his family, the personal is political. That the Skywalker clan’s rifts become civil wars. But he doesn’t care. He’s tried for years to do things others’ ways. He’s done with all that. Time to solve the galaxy’s problems on his own terms. And if Rey isn’t with him, she can be his enemy if she chooses. 

The tension in the room is palpable as the Force swirls about them. Buffeting his mind with a familiar frenzy. He has felt this strange sensation before. First, when he logged on to the holonet on a random Tuesday to be confronted with a blaring headline that Senator Leia Organa Solo is the secret daughter of Darth Vader. Next, as he stood bereft, alone, and confused amid the wreckage of Luke’s Temple surveying the bloody aftermath of the Force shockwave. He felt this weirdness once more during the moment he first knelt before Snoke to pledge allegiance as Apprentice. Again, as he stood on the bridge of the _Finalizer_ watching Starkiller Base obliterate Hosnia. It was in the back of his mind when Rey arrived to the _Supremacy_ in the _Falcon_ ’s escape pod. Also, when he landed a TIE fighter next to Rey’s X-wing on Exogol and prepared to confront Darth Sidious. He knows this feeling presages change. It teases the work of fate and it augers destiny. At each major turning point of his meandering life, the Force has been there as a harbinger. It’s here now.

His past words to Rey now echo in his mind: _free will doesn’t oppose fate, it enacts it_. And so, his decision now is a choice, but not a choice. Ordinary people get to direct their lives. But not favorites of the Force. Not Skywalkers.

Wary Rey on the floor is waiting for an answer. 

Darth Plagueis looks like he longs to say something, but is forcing himself to remain silent. 

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Kylo states the truth without explanation. “I’m going back to the First Order.”

It’s what he has been tempted to do for weeks now. He has seethed from afar as the movement to reestablish the Empire languished when it once commanded all the major systems. Maybe it’s too late to change that situation, but at least he can be there for their last stand. He thinks it’s what his grandfather would do if he were in his position. And who knows? Maybe the Force will be with him. 

Ashen faced Rey struggles to her feet. “No—wait! Ben, don’t do this. Don’t go this way—“

He’s heard that line before. “Do not follow me!” he hisses. “I don’t want you around! I am tired of people who want to change me--to fix me--to reform me--to redeem me. I decide who I am!” He shoots a hard look first at Plagueis and then at Rey. “Not him and not you!”

Rey tries to talk him down. “This is a mistake! Ben, if we handle it right, in time the Resistance might allow you—“

“No! I’ll die with the Order before I go begging to the Republic. And I will never, ever be a Jedi,” he grinds out.

“But if you go back, you’ll only help Darth Sidious!” she wails.

Beside her, old Plagueis nods.

He disagrees. “What better way to find him than to join those who support him?” The first place to begin looking for information about his enemy’s whereabouts will be among his remaining embedded Final Order loyalists.

“Ben, you’ll get killed!”

“She could be right,” Plagueis weighs in.

But that threat is hollow. Death does not concern him. “I have died before. I do not fear death. I only fear failure,” he boasts.

He starts striding for the door as Rey panics and shrieks to Plagueis, “Do something! Stop him!”

“No.”

“No??”

“No,” Darth Plagueis the Wise’s answer is final. The Sith Master nods across to him in solemn farewell. “May the Force be with you, my Lord.” That the meddling Muun declines to intervene is actually encouraging, if unexpected. 

Rey isn’t giving up. She rushes forward. “You said we are strongest together—wait, Ben—"

He intercepts her and thrusts her back bodily. “Stop calling me that! Whoever you think that man is, he isn’t me!” He hasn’t been Ben Solo since he accidently committed mass murder at the Temple. Ben Solo is the boy he was born, but Kylo Ren is the man he has become. She needs to accept that.

“Are you Darth Ren now, is that it?” Rey demands as again he whirls to leave. “Going back to pretend to be a monster in a mask? To be the Supreme Leader of a dead empire? Because I’m offering you more!” 

Kylo pauses on the threshold and slowly turns. He holds Rey’s gaze steadily as he speaks with grim resignation. “I think I’m just beginning to understand who I am. Because for as long as I can remember, people have been telling me who I should be. Luke. Snoke. My mother. Him,” he gestures to Plagueis. “Even you. Everyone has a cause for me to fight and a legacy for me to uphold. That’s over!” he hisses. “I’m not anyone’s Padawan or Apprentice any more. I answer to no one but the Force!”

His chest heaving and his composure failing, Kylo departs for the landing pad. He clasps his grandfather’s sword tightly as he tries not to limp. If nothing else, he will march away with his dignity intact. He’s off to rejoin a lost cause in his murdered father’s rundown ship that destroyed two Death Stars. This kneejerk decision is probably foolish suicide, but Kylo doesn’t care. Something about this moment feels very right and incredibly freeing.

From behind him, Plagueis’ scornful disapproval carries. “Congratulations on your first resurrection, Daughter. I didn’t revive Kylo Ren. You did. I hope you’re happy. Now, matters are worse.”

Predictably, Rey starts moralizing. “Don’t blame me for his bad decisions . . .” Kylo never hears the rest. He’s out of earshot now and he’s glad.

END PART ONE

More to come.


	13. chapter 13-story notes to part one

If you’re not with me, you’re my enemy . . . 

That’s not how any of us want Reylo to end up, but those are the traditional stakes, no? This story is about Rey and Kylo trying to transcend the cycle of conflict in the Force. This isn’t your typical fix-it fic. This is a blueenvelopes story, and that means your HEA is neither guaranteed nor easy. So, stop now if you want something sugary.

This is a story I swore I would never write. Mostly because I was so annoyed by episode 9 that I didn’t want to dignify it with my efforts. I won’t make these story notes a film review, but let me say that I have lots of issues with TROS. Like many fan fic authors, I decided to solve the problem of Episode 9 by retconning the whole thing. I wrote my own fix-it fic, but I didn’t do it the usual way. It wasn’t Reylo. It wasn’t even set in the sequel era. Twilight of the Gods is the story of the Chosen One Darth Vader attempting to subvert Darth Sidious with the help of Luke Skywalker and the Sith who could cheat death, none other than Darth Plagueis himself, the undead Sith Master of Darth Sidious. We’ve all seen ROTJ--the assassination plot fails in Twilight of the Gods. It fails because Luke Skywalker doesn’t trust Darth Vader and remains committed to the tenets of the old Jedi Order. Moreover, it fails because at the end of the disastrous Death Star 2 throne room confrontation, Darth Sidious isn’t even dead. Poor Vader’s sacrifice doesn’t balance the Force but it allows Luke to live to continue his father’s quest for moderation. The story ends with Darth Plagueis disappointed and retreating into exile. He resolves to wait and see what the Force does next through its latest favorites, Luke and Leia. Darth Plagueis will take a hands-off approach since his meddling had such awful results.

How is that a true retcon? What does that mean for the sequel trilogy? Fast forward thirty years and the young Jedi ideologue Luke Skywalker has discovered the drawbacks of the old Light Side religion. He knows he hasn’t balanced the Force in any lasting way. He knows both Plagueis and Sidious are out there, biding their time to advance their competing agendas and subvert his efforts. Sure enough, he loses his nephew Ben Solo to the Dark Side to a guy who calls himself Snoke. Who is Snoke? He’s a clone puppet of Darth Plagueis controlled by Darth Sidious in an epic troll move. Darth Sidious wants to make sure that if his old Master were ever to attempt to return, it would confuse the heck out of the galaxy. The fancy gold dress, the tacky throne room . . . it’s all Darth Sidious gaslighting the galaxy while making fun of his dignified, gentlemanly old Master who would recoil from that gaudy excess. Meanwhile, the real Darth Plagueis stays true to his resolve and waits on the sidelines to see how the Skywalker twins + the New Republic versus the Skywalker nephew + the First Order versus Darth Sidious + the Final Order works out.

I was going to leave it there—open ended and unfinished with Plagueis approaching Rey at the end of Twilight. Why? Because I didn’t like the way episode 9 continued the Reylo relationship. Rey is very hostile and lost for much of the film, which seems like a strange leadup for her resolute stance against Sidious. I would have appreciated her flailing around if I thought it was a prelude to a possible fall to Darkness. But Rey is very resolved to fight Sidious. Did anyone actually believe she was ever tempted to join him? There was no dramatic tension there for me. 

For his part, Kylo seems to make decisions designed to advance the plot for Rey—not really for himself. His redemption arc doesn’t work for me. From the confrontation with Han Solo to the Exogol healing and kiss, the Reylo storyline seems jarring and forced. The big kiss wasn’t romantic for me because Rey doesn’t even seem to like Kylo, let alone LIKE Kylo. If she loves anyone in episode 9, it is some amorphous concept of Ben Solo who she has anointed prince charming in her own mind. Was the man who appeared at Exogol actually Ben Solo? I don’t know. He didn’t have enough lines to establish who he was in my mind, let alone why he was there. Moreover, the Reylo relationship in episode 9 seems entirely one-sided. Kylo is into Rey, but she’s mostly into Ben Solo. Kylo’s the man she fights and stabs—it’s hardly a healthy, mutual relationship. These two do very little talking and Rey is usually the one who starts the fighting. Kylo seems to show more restraint than she does.

Once it was clear episode 9 would be a redemption story, I knew Kylo was going to die. You know the trope: HEA means the bad guys get punished and we all cheer. It’s messier if the bad guy is redeemed—what then? He has to die or else the story gets complicated. How do you deal with the former Kylo Ren? How does he atone? Do you punish him? Is there a trial? How are you ever certain he won’t revert to doing bad things again? Does he wander around the galaxy anonymously doing good deeds? Is he some reclusive Force monk teaching how not to live your life? Rather than resolve all that, the writers took the easy way out and killed him. It’s a noble sacrifice that makes us all feel good even if it robs the character of a key part of their struggle. 

There was never going to be episode 9 Reylo moment without Kylo dying—the character arc that would allow Disney to get comfortable with Reylo was always going to lead to Kylo’s death. The simplistic morality play that is the traditional SW universe demands it. Now, there were hints in episode 8 that we might get beyond that concept to some true moral complexity, but unfortunately it was abandoned. At the end of episode 9, the Jedi win, the Sith die, the Republic/Resistance triumphs and the Empire/First Order/Final Order ends. Happy everyone???

I wasn’t. 

Kylo’s character is by far the most interesting of the sequel trilogy. The character has something to contribute, but episode 9 doesn’t let him. Kylo’s experiences and choices no longer matter when he dies redeemed and becomes a cautionary tale of what not to do. It also traps the larger SW universe in the cycle of bad guys rising/good guy underdogs winning that seems to be set on repeat. Dare I say it? It’s boring. A few callbacks are fun, but the whole story of the sequel trilogy being a callback is boring. We’ve seen it episode 9 before and it (ROTJ) was better the first time. (I will also argue that we’ve seen episode 7 before and it (ANH) was better the first time.)

If I were writing episode 9, I would have made the First Order ally with the Resistance to oppose Darth Sidious. It would have been a story about people with strongly held, often diametrically opposed ideas coming together. It would have been about compromise between competing value sets. It would have been a story about trust and risk taking. About principled people who are forced to bend those principles in the face of harsh reality. In a year during which there have been riots in the streets and riots in the US Capitol, this is a narrative we desperately need: how do very different people—often with sincere and legitimate grievances--find common ground?

Now, stories about the struggle to balance the Force are nothing new for me. I have been writing stories about balance for some time (Twilight of the Gods, Versions of You, Son of Darkness, Ghosts of the Past/The Chosen One). In each story, the Sith/First Order/bad guys are in charge and they are groping towards balance from the perspective of the Dark Side. The struggle is usually to find the moderating role of the Light within a Dark Side controlled empire. This story is different in that the Light Side has won and the issue becomes what role can a Dark Sider play. Rey has her own proposal for Kylo (including a ‘Join me!” line) in the last chapter. We’ve come full circle on who stands in the position of strength to make the offer.

Epilogue brings back meddling Plagueis who revives Kylo. Rey is a sort of a reluctant winner and Darth Sidious is out there somewhere. No one trusts anyone and yet none can succeed entirely on their own. So alliances must be made—stay tuned.  
Rey has some doubts about the Jedi but she’s generally committed to goodness and Light, which she sees as one in the same. She’s untrained and overpowered, with a strong streak of Darkness. I departed from the Palpatine’s granddaughter backstory to make Rey a child of the Force. I think that’s a much better explanation for her character, honestly. She’s fascinated by Kylo—mostly because of who he was and who she hopes he can be. That fascination deepens with the more time the two characters spend with one another. But in the end, Rey still has a hard time accepting Kylo for who he is. That’s in large part driven by her own fear of Darkness. She’s also continuing her motivation that began in TFA—to find who she is. At this point, that’s less a question of who her parents are than it is who she will become. Rey’s not entirely sure what she wants, but she’s about to enter a very big role with the Republic. And hey—cut her some slack. Given her meager background and her youth, she doesn’t have all the answers yet. I didn’t either at age 20-21.

Revived Kylo is not some reformed, saintly Ben Solo. He has great qualities, but plenty of bad ones too. Like his grandfather, Kylo sees Darkness as a tool more than a goal. He’s less evil than expedient and pragmatic. Also like Vader, Kylo has a truly evil boss who makes the big decisions. Blame the really awful parts of the Empire and the First Order on Darth Sidious, not the Skywalkers. Kylo keeps trying to break free of the past, but Rey refuses. At the end of Part 1, that leads him to double down on Darkness. But as anyone who’s ever read a blueenvelopes story knows, the farther you go to extremes, the harder the pull to the middle. And so, the Darker Kylo becomes, the more he will crave the Light. That is the nature of the Chosen Ones who are born of the Force itself. They veer to extremes time and again.

I have a whole head canon of Republic/First Order politics (as set forth most precisely in the unfinished The Searchers). Expect some of that here. As usual, I am making this up as I go and I only have a vague idea of a plot. I don’t write story outlines or map out chapters. I write what comes to mind, and the conflicts between the characters generally drive the plot. I’m going to strive to update weekly. Not sure how that will play out since as of yesterday my husband has COVID-19. I’m hoping we all don’t get sick, but who knows? We haven’t had the best luck the last few years. Thanks for reading. There will be more to come.


	14. chapter 14

“Young lady, you are exceedingly fortunate that the Master didn’t murder you. Back in the old days, you would have met the Force.”

This lecture comes from Lord Plagueis’ disapproving servant Vanee in a tone of cringe inducing disdain. After that, Vanee says very few words to her during the entire three-day trip to Coruscant. Rey is deposited at the Republic’s original—and now newly restored—capital world. She is left with a credit card with a hefty balance, a replacement blue lightsaber taken from Lord Vader’s collection, and a stern admonishment to ‘do the work of the Force and stop being so foolish.’

For his part, old Darth Plagueis was similarly cool in his send-off. He refused her requests for training and for access to his trove of Jedi artifacts. He told her to think deeply on her experiences, admonishing her to confront her fears and to make her own opinions. Daughter, you will always find safe haven here with me should you need it, the old Sith Master informed her. But despite those words, he bade her ‘May the Force be with you’ and instructed Vanee to remove her from his sight immediately. 

As she walked away, Rey heard the surly Milo character mutter, “Good riddance.”

Darth Plagueis didn’t correct him. 

And that’s how Rey now finds herself back with the Resistance—recently officially subsumed into the Republic. Poe Dameron is running the show as he sets up an interim galactic government that is a mix of Resistance leaders and surviving New Republic Senators, judges, and other officials who were off-world when the Starkiller struck. The goal is to provide temporary stability until free and fair elections can be held to establish a democratically elected Senate. And since stability requires security, Poe’s equal counterpart is Finn, who now commands the Republic military. 

The galaxy at large is still very much in disarray. That’s not an insurmountable problem for the prosperous, well-governed, and self-sufficient Core worlds. It is, however, a huge issue for the Mid Rim and Outer Rim systems. For as usual, during any crisis the poorest suffer the most. All the uncertainty is a huge drag on the intergalactic economy, most especially for the trade and investment sectors that keep the peripheral worlds afloat. Uncertainty devalues local currencies and throws financial markets into wild swings. It promotes speculation and rumor. The only solution is to establish a legitimate government as soon as possible and start making concrete plans for the future. 

It’s a big task given the galaxy’s thousands of systems are comprised of many different species and cultures. Luckily, there is an easy template at hand in the form of the New Republic constitution. Basically, Poe wants to restore things back to the way they were before. He will make no concessions to the complaints of the First Order loyalists. 

Wars have consequences, Poe declares before the cameras. We won. We make the decisions now. And Rey has to concede that there is not much public outcry in support of redressing the First Order’s longstanding political and economic complaints. No one feels they need to compromise to the marauding enemy who tried to burn down the New Republic rather than reform it from within. Hearts are still very hardened by the loss of Hosnia. No one wants to give an inch.

On Coruscant, things are moving fast. But while there’s a lot going on around her, Rey’s own job as Jedi liaison to the Senate can’t begin until the official announcement of the interim Chancellor. That means there isn’t much for her to do yet. Busy Poe meets with her for thirty minutes when she first arrives. He encourages her to hang around and get to know the key players emerging within the new government. Politics is about personal relationships, Poe quotes Leia Organa to Rey. So go meet everyone and learn all you can, he urges. 

That assignment has Rey sitting as an observer in an endless number of meetings. She is introduced as the Jedi hero of Crait and Exogol and the Force student of Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa. Then Rey takes her seat and keeps her mouth shut. She watches others debate and make decisions. Truthfully, she doesn’t have much to add to the proceedings. But she is learning a lot. Plus, all the information overload helps to keep her mind off second-guessing her decision about Ben Solo.

Rey very much wants to contribute. But life as a self-taught Rim scavenger has not prepared her to work at the epicenter of galactic policymaking. This aspect of being a Jedi seems far more daunting in some ways than swinging a lightsaber. But Rey remembers Ben describing how the Clone Wars led the Jedi Order astray and contributed to their downfall. So she is trying to find her place in the post-war Republic, reminding herself that there is more to the Force than fighting. But what does it mean to be apolitical when you advise a politician and an elected legislative body? How do you go about reestablishing the longstanding but defunct Republic state religion? She’ll have to figure that out.

Once a week, there is a regularly scheduled public presentation on progress towards convening a new Senate. Typically, it is followed by a military briefing. These are public events broadcast live on the holonet. Rey doesn’t participate. She’s a silent observer in the crowded audience.

This morning’s Senate briefing is an exhaustive overview of the proposed election procedures and timeline. It’s the nuts and bolts of democracy, but Rey finds it all dreadfully dull. She endures the two-hour long presentation and Q&A session, thinking it’s what General Leia would want her to do. Finally, the briefing concludes and people begin to file out. That’s when Rey catches sight of a familiar face coming into the room while others depart. 

“Finn!”

The former stormtrooper FN2187 is handsome in his Republic general’s uniform with his trademark Resistance jacket on top. It’s Poe’s jacket that has become an inside joke between the two young leaders who have been fast friends since their improbable meeting on a First Order star destroyer. 

“Finn!” She waves. Does he see her? He does. His eyes light up. 

“Rey!” Finn makes his way over to envelope her in his arms. “Give me a hug, Jedi Master,” he laughs as he squeezes tight.

The hug feels good. She needed it. But as she pulls back, Rey chides, “Don’t call me that—I’m not even a real Jedi yet.”

He grins. Finn has an irrepressible grin that matches his infectious laugh. Everything about Finn is charismatic, something Rey admires but can’t seem to replicate herself. She’ll always be an introvert thanks to Jakku. 

“What do you mean not a real Jedi?” Finn teases her. “Haven’t you finished your homework yet? Where are Skywalker’s books?”

That comment hits a raw nerve, but Rey doesn’t let on. “I’m working on it.” 

“I’d say that taking on Darth Sidious counts for extra credit,” Finn decides. “So I’m calling you a Jedi and promoting you to Master. Get used to it, scavenger.”

“You’re getting good at giving orders,” Rey laughs at his good-natured insistence. Finn has long been her biggest fan and an unflagging source of support. His positive, can-do attitude is the encouragement she needs right now.

“Hey, I’ve come a long way from working sanitation on the Starkiller Base,” he brags. Finn being Finn, his bravado is never obnoxious. If anything, it’s fun and often self-effacing.

He looks her over and wonders aloud, “Does this mean you are here to stay?”

She nods. “I got back over two weeks ago. Poe put me to work with the Senate.”

“Good,” he approves. “You know,” Finn slides warm brown eyes that match his skin over to her, “I was worried about you. Everyone was.”

She knows. She was gone far too long and gave a paltry explanation. No one asked any questions, but she knew they had them. “I needed some time.”

He shoots her a look. “I sent a lot of messages that got one sentence replies.”

“I’m sorry. I needed some time.” Finn, Poe, and the others will never know just how close she came to disappearing into anonymity with their enemy.

Her friend’s face softens. Finn backs down. “I understand. Look, I wasn’t there, so I don’t really know what you went through. But I can tell it was hard . . . very hard. And I know it took great courage.”

She says nothing. At this point, the less said about Exogol the better. Finn and everyone else believe it to be a great victory, but with first Darth Sidious and now Kylo Ren still on the loose, Rey worries Exogol didn’t solve anything. 

Finn leans close now to whisper playfully, “Don't tell anyone, but we’re all very proud of you, Master Rey.”

That’s her cue to match his happy, lighthearted mood. But she can’t muster even a smile. She’s feeling too guilty and torn. And now, suddenly a random tear leaks out.

She brushes it away fast, but her friend notices. “Okay, this is getting heavy. I’m digging up bad memories. My fault, Rey. What I’m trying to say is that I’m glad you’re back. I missed you. We all did. We need you. You’re our Jedi.”

She nods, flashes a weak smile, and changes the topic immediately. “Are you here for the briefing?”

“Yes. Will you be attending?”

“Of course. I heard the news about Wobani. What happened?”

Finn’s happy mood deflates. He is instantly solemn and troubled. “It was an ambush. Our guys never even had a chance. The First Order disabled and disintegrated every single ship.” He sighs as he reports the bleak news, “They made the effort to ensure every last one of our people died.”

“No quarter?”

“No quarter,” he confirms grimly. “There are no survivors that we know of.”

“I guess they are very desperate here at the end . . ..”

“I suppose . . . ” Finn frowns. “It’s the First Order. They’ve always been ruthless. But this was especially systematic . . . it was excessive even for them. Whoever their commander was, he wanted more than just to win. It’s like he was out for revenge.”

Rey thinks she knows who their commander may have been. But she keeps that knowledge to herself. “How many?”

“Close to four hundred. There were five capital ships plus the escort fighters lost. Most of the dead were non-combatants,” he reports. “Technical and support personnel. Medics.”

That’s a lot of losses for what was supposed to be a rendezvous point for a routine supply convoy movement and not an actual planned attack. Rey murmurs with respect, “May the Force be with them.”

“Yes. They died heroes,” Finn adds. 

“Is there more bad news?” she worries.

“No. Wobani is an outlier. The rest of the news from the battlefront is good.”

“But isn’t Wobani the most recent news?” Rey worries that ambush is a sign of things to come.

Finn assures her, “The overall picture remains very positive. We’re making continued progress.”

“So the end is near?”

“I hope so.” For a moment, Finn’s young face looks old. He confesses, “I can’t wait for it to be over. Rey, I’m tired of killing people. Especially when I know that a lot of the people I’m fighting don’t know any better. They have been brainwashed by the First Order. They are victims, not enemies. They don’t have a choice,” he laments.

“I know you were hoping there would be a revolt from within.” After Exogol, Finn had argued hard for the Resistance to attempt to provoke a revolution amid the stormtroopers. But the rest of the Resistance commanders favored an aggressive approach to taking out the remains of the First Order. They argued time is of the essence, pointing to the example of the lingering Imperial remnants that persisted for years after the Battle of Endor. The point was persuasive, and Finn had backed down. But Rey knows he feels very guilty about the fate of his former stormtrooper colleagues. Finn and Jannah had hoped to liberate them. Instead, they are tasked with killing them.

“This war is won in every way that matters,” Finn tells her. “That’s the message of my briefing. All that’s left is to make martyrs of their diehards.”

“Do we have to do that?” Rey winces.

“After Wobani, probably so. You know how war goes—it’s an eye for an eye. We have to respond in kind or risk looking weak.”

“Mercy is not weakness,” Rey objects.

“I know that,” Finn agrees. “But everyone fears what will happen if any of their leadership remains. Exiling the Imperial elite to the Rim thirty years ago was how we got the First Order. So, letting today’s fascist stragglers go free has everyone worried for what it may become someday in the future.”

Rey nods. She understands. It’s reasonable to seek to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past. That’s what everyone wants to do—even Kylo Ren, she knows.

Finn now leans in close to speak under his breath, “We sent the First Order draft terms of surrender yesterday morning.”

“We did?” No one told her that. But then again, she hasn’t exactly been deeply involved lately. Plus, she and Poe have a relationship that is often more testy than friendly. She’s not in his inner circle. 

Finn nods. “We’re announcing it at the afternoon briefing and releasing the documents to the media.”

“To put pressure on them to respond?” she guesses.

“Yes. Rey, I insisted on this. I want to at least give them a chance to give up with honor. We will negotiate—we’ll let them save face on a few things if they play along. A surrender will stop the killing and end the war sooner.”

“And if they refuse?”

“Then we end it the way we are doing now—a slow march through all of their remaining systems to eradicate their leadership and demilitarize their governments.”

“It’s harsh.”

“I know.” Finn’s face says it all—as aggrieved as he is personally by the First Order, he is a reluctant warrior in the mission to destroy much of want counts for civilization in the Outer Rim. Still, he reminds her, “No one feels that we can risk leaving many of those extremists around after what happened last time. Wobani makes that especially clear.”

Rey frowns. “So . . . now we’re the ones giving no quarter?”

Finn recoils from her implicit comparison. “We’re not them,” he corrects her sharply. “Look, I don’t like this strategy any more than you do, but let’s not equate what we’re doing with their actions. And you know that I take prisoners whenever possible--”

“Sorry.” She feels a little sheepish at the strong reaction she provoked. “That came out wrong. Have they responded yet?”

“To the surrender terms? I’m not expecting them to accept.”

“I was afraid you would say that.” If Ben is back in charge, then there’s no way the First Order will surrender, Rey thinks to herself. But maybe there was never going to be a peaceful solution to this conflict no matter who is in charge.

“Left alone, I don’t think they will even acknowledge our offer. That’s why we’re making it public—to force them to at least pretend to consider it. Who knows? Maybe we have killed enough of them by now that they will accept.” Finn’s words are blunt and harsh, but Rey knows that is the truth of the situation. “At least this way, I can in good conscience go forward. We gave them a way out.”

“It’s so harsh,” she worries again.

Finn reminds her, “Don’t forget that these are military personnel and military targets that we are hunting. This isn’t the same as killing billions of civilians on Hosnia.”

He’s right. “I know . . . but I don’t like to have to do it . . . ”

“None of us do.” And now, Finn’s voice drops even lower as he looks around to be certain they aren’t overheard. “Your concerns about Emperor Palpatine . . . well, they are part of what’s behind the drive to destroy the First Order completely. We feel we need to make a big effort to cripple his power base so he can never return.”

“Poe talked to me about that.”

“Told you to keep your mouth shut?”

“Yes.” It had not been a good conversation. She felt attacked as the messenger of bad news Poe didn’t want to acknowledge. It was made worse by the fact that he clearly doesn’t believe her.

“If what you suspect is true and it becomes public, it will scare people and could potentially undermine our new government,” Finn makes Poe’s point again now. “Rumors about Palpatine could really hurt us.”

“I know.” Just like if anyone knew Kylo Ren is still alive, it could hurt the Republic. It strikes at the core of their claims that the war is over and the Republic is the winner who will take charge for the future.

“We’re not hiding anything so much as trying to strengthen ourselves as his opposition if he really is out there,” Finn keeps explaining.

She gets it. “I understand.” Rey knows that the Republic leadership is deeply skeptical of her story. And since she has no proof to offer—other than that their supposedly dead enemy Kylo Ren agrees with her—Rey has let the point go. She’s not sure it would change anything about Finn and Poe’s plans anyway. The fight against Darth Sidious will fall to her and Ben alone, she fears.

“Excuse me, General, but can I get a moment?” A woman appears to interrupt. She’s a member of Poe’s staff looking for Finn.

Rey gracefully takes the cue to exit. “I’ll let you two talk.”

“Find me after my briefing?” Finn requests. “I want to hear more about your Senate job.”

Rey smiles. “Sure.”

Two hours later, Rey takes a seat between Rose Tico and some of Finn’s officers to wait for the military briefing to start. Behind them, the room is full of members of the press and Republic staffers. There is an air of anticipation as camera bots zoom in and out to establish the best angles to record the proceedings. Clearly, the announcement that General Finn himself will lead the briefing along with Poe Dameron has stoked excitement. In the past, the two men have appeared personally to announce only very significant milestones. Rey overhears several people seated around her speculate about what their joint appearance means today. She herself now knows it’s to announce the peace overture to the First Order.

“Thank you for coming today,” Finn takes the podium to welcome the room as things get underway. Poe stands flanking him along with the veterans Commander Larma D’arcy and General Caluan Ematt, who lend some grey-haired experience and time-tested seniority to the presentation. 

Finn continues smoothly, “Thank you also to those citizens watching us on the holonet. I will begin today with our current assessment of the ongoing conflict. Then Poe Dameron will announce news on the latest developments in our search for a resolution. At the conclusion of those remarks, Poe and I will jointly take questions.”

Finn barely finishes speaking these introductory sentences before soft beeps, chimes, buzzes, and chirps begin to sound. It’s a roomful of comlinks and datapads receiving breaking news alerts simultaneously. Now, no one is looking at Finn. They all consult their devices. Instantly, a murmur begins rippling through the crowd. 

Beside Rey, Rose swears softly under her breath. “I don't believe it . . . ”

“What??” Rey is alarmed. Whatever has happened is important, for she feels it in the Force. All around her, the audience’s strong reactions buffet her mind. Most are dismayed, like Rose. Others are angry. 

Someone approaches Finn on the podium to slip a datapad in front of him. Finn watches for a few long seconds before his mouth sets in a tight line. “Put it on the big screen,” he orders to an assistant. “Start at the beginning. Play the whole message.”

“But Sir—“

“On the big screen, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Rose, what is it?” Rey hisses to her friend who is hunched close over her datapad. Rey herself has never gotten in the habit of carrying a device. Those who know her well know it’s a legacy of Jakku. 

Rose answers sounding perplexed, “It’s a message from the First Order . . . from Kylo Ren . . . or some guy who looks like Kylo Ren . . . ”

Rey tries to act surprised. Her heart starts pounding.

“He’s supposed to be dead,” the young officer seated next to her growls as Finn’s scheduled briefing is immediately put on hold so everyone can process in real time a message from their enemy. “Is that really him?” The officer holds up his tablet.

“That’s him,” Rose confirms. “All of us at Crait saw him without the helmet.” 

“Are you sure? This could be some desperate last-ditch approach for unity—you know, some trick? Maybe that’s a changling?” the officer speculates.

“That’s Ren,” Rose is firm.

Rey says nothing.

The screen beside the speaker’s podium now begins playing the message. It’s Kylo Ren without his mask speaking directly to the camera. He is shown standing before the red and black standard of the First Order. He wears the princely black cape and marching garments his secret grandmother brought him from Coruscant. His arms are crossed and his stance is confident. He’s back to wearing gloves and his grandfather’s sword hangs from his waist. Even his hair is combed for the occasion, a rare occurrence, Rey knows.

Rey does her best to keep a poker face as around her people are agape.

He begins: _I am Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order. The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated._

In the large, crowded briefing room where Rey sits, you could hear a pin drop. Everyone collectively holds their breath as they watch.

What follows is a short statement from the missing and presumed dead leader of the First Order that is very true to the man himself. It’s an equal mix of peevish and aggrieved menace and lofty, ambitious rhetoric. Like the former Ben Solo turned Kylo Ren, the speech is one part pain and one part purpose. 

_Today, yet again, the New Republic will lie to the galaxy. Their representatives will tell you that the First Order is beaten and that the war is over. They will tease the imminent collapse of our cause. They will promise you peace and prosperity. They will herald the return of the glory days of the failed state that was the Old Republic. Every word of what they will say is wrong._

He pauses for emphasis and Rey squirms in her seat. It’s silly, but it feels like he is looking right at her.

_The First Order is alive and well. The war is just beginning. Soon, the Empire will be reborn. I will bring peace, freedom, justice, and security to the galaxy. There will be order so that all may prosper. In the meantime, I ask all good citizens to be patient. Better days lie ahead._

And now, as if to preempt any naysayers who might argue that he could be anyone posing in the uniform, Kylo Ren casually opens his palm and calls a small datafile from off camera into his grasp with the Force. It’s a silent confirmation that yeah, he’s the real deal. This is no actor set up to play a part. He tosses the datafile slightly and it hangs magically suspended in the air.

He now purrs in a tone reminiscent of Darth Plagueis to Rey’s ears: _Yesterday, the Republic had the gall to send me terms of surrender_. Kylo Ren clenches his gloved fist and the floating datafile disintegrates into pieces that fall to the floor. It’s not subtle. _I reject all terms of surrender. I will never give in. I have traveled too far and seen too much to ignore the despair in the galaxy._

_As far back as the Separatists’ Confederacy, good citizens have recognized the failure of the Republic and taken action. Emperor Palpatine, Lord Sidious knew this to be true when he formed the Empire. My grandfather Lord Vader knew it to be true when he fought the Rebellion. And I know it to be true today as I lead the First Order. The Republic is a mistake we must stop repeating. Good citizens, it is time to let the past die. Kill it, if you have to. It’s the only way the galaxy will become what it is meant to be._

That’s it. The message concludes and the emblem of the First Order is displayed along with a helpful, handy holonet link to access for more propaganda. 

As far as First Order speeches go, this one is true to form. It is brief, angry, and unapologetic. The speech is delivered with a seething intensity that somehow manages to threaten danger from lightyears away. It’s as if Kylo Ren himself might leap out of the screen, light his sword, and finish you off himself. Rey and everyone surrounding her at the Republic’s makeshift headquarters are taken aback. Several look frightened.

For a long moment the room is quiet. Everyone turns to stare at one another, their faces a range of expressions from alarmed, to skeptical, to furious. The most common reaction is disbelief. No one has expected this. No one except her, that is. 

The moment quickly passes and now the room is chaos. People stand to their feet. Everyone starts talking at once. Some are shouting. Rey hears snatches of exchanges from around her.

“ . . . I guess that explains no quarter at Wobani. Kylo Ren is run rampant with his diehard crazies who will do anything . . . ”

“I like him better with the helmet.”

“Who cares what he looks like—he’s alive and that’s what matters. This is a game changer.”

“I’m just saying, he’s kind of goofy looking. He doesn't look anything like the Princess.”

“Not goofy—creepy. Creepy like a serial killer with the Force . . . that guy is intense.”

“I thought he was dead.”

“Like we thought the old Emperor was dead? These Dark Side guys are hard to kill. Who’s coming back to life next? I have had it with these zombie Siths.”

“Is he a Sith? He’s not Darth Ren . . . or is he?”

“Does it matter? He’s not a Jedi.”

No doubt by design, Kylo Ren’s big reveal thoroughly preempts Finn’s press briefing. The Republic’s carefully choreographed messaging, with its intentional word choices and fully vetted facts and figures, is now made moot. Because nothing Finn and Poe were planning to say addresses this development. 

The two men confer briefly at the front of the room and then together they head directly for her. Poe looks stressed and ready to erupt, but he has the presence of mind not to do so before the media. “Rey, can we have a word?” he barks. Poe gets curt when he is stressed, as the entire Resistance knows.

“Sure.” Rey swallows hard, for she knew this moment was coming.

“Everybody,” Poe looks around at his swarm of staffers, “in the conference room next to my office. Now!”

As soon as they are behind closed doors and away from watchful eyes, Poe vents. “What the Hell just happened?”

“You saw what we all saw,” Finn keeps his cool.

“I’m not sure what I saw. I mean, what was that? How did Ren get to be the underdog?” Poe fumes. “How is he possibly on the side of freedom and justice? And how did we not know that he’s still alive??” 

Poe now advances on her, blame in his eyes. “You told us Ren was dead.”

“I thought he was dead.”

“Yeah? Well, did you notice? He’s alive!”

“Easy, Poe,” Finn talks him down. Finn’s the type who gets quiet and cool in a crisis whereas Poe emotes nonstop when stressed. In his cockpit days, he was known to chatter on and on throughout an entire battle until one distracted wingman famously told him to ‘shut the fuck up before I blast you myself.’

But just now, all eyes are on her. Rey sticks to her story. “I can’t explain it.” The truth is so preposterous and incriminating that she immediately discards it as an option. 

“You tell us Ren is dead and Palpatine is alive and yet Ren’s the one who shows up on the holonet? Which is it Rey—who died at Exogol?” Poe demands.

“Neither of them, I guess . . .” she answers. Rey can’t help but notice that Finn is looking at her strangely. Like he’s uncertain if he believes her. And since he’s Force sensitive, Rey worries that Finn is on to her. Falsehoods sing out in the Force. Rey now does her best to make as many affirmatively true statements as possible.

One of the staffers speaks up. “It could have been faked from old recordings—”

Rey dismisses this notion. “It’s not fake. That’s him. That’s how he talks. That’s what he believes. He’s fed me that line about letting the past die before.”

Another staffer points out, “He referred to the surrender terms we sent—he couldn’t have faked that before he died months ago.”

Poe is agitated and looking for answers. “Rey, tell me how to explain this to the galaxy? Because I need an explanation. A good one and quick!”

“I can’t explain it. I saw him die. He disappeared into the Force right before my eyes. It was just like L-Leia did,” Rey recalls, getting a little choked up at the memory of her late mentor. “He even left behind his clothes like she did . . .”

“Yeah, I remember you telling me that,” Finn recalls. “But could you have been confused? Rey, you were wounded.”

“He died,” she is emphatic.

“So this is like the thing Luke did? When he was a ghost? Like at Crait?” Poe theorizes as he begins to pace. 

“You mean a projection? I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Actually, Rey knows otherwise, but she’s trying to hedge. “I saw him die. I was there,” she maintains, sticking to her story. “I can’t explain this message.”

She feels a frisson of dread in her mind at the repeated half-truth before witnesses. She did see Ben die, but she also saw him resurrected by Darth Plagueis. She saw him storm off in the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ to rejoin the First Order. It was always only a matter of time before he resurfaced. Her passive lie of omission just became a lie of commission. She has now affirmatively misled the Republic about her involvement with its enemy. 

Why is she doing this? This is the probably the best moment to take Finn and Poe aside to come clean and admit the whole truth of what transpired on Zakuul. But she can’t do it. Why? Rey can’t explain, but beyond the completely unbelievable nature of the truth, divulging it feels strangely disloyal. Part of her is somehow committed to Ben still . . . or at least committed to his vision of balance. He trusted her and she trusted him . . . enough to go to bed together once.

“You saw the old Emperor die too, but yet you claim he’s alive. Maybe Ren could resurrect himself as well?” another staffer posits.

“Is he that powerful?” Finn looks to her. 

She’s the authority on all things Force for the Republic now that General Leia is gone. It’s yet another reason why Rey hates abusing her friends’ trust. But she doesn’t think they can accept the whole truth. After all, if they can’t accept that Darth Sidious is alive, there is no way that they will ever understand why she trained with Ben and nearly left the Republic for an alliance with him. And so, Rey gives a non-answer, “I don’t know . . . Things are different on the Dark Side. Who knows how the resurrection thing works? Palpatine survived the Death Star when Vader died,” she points out. 

“Well, if Ren didn’t die before, he’s going to die now. This is a problem we can solve,” Poe declares. He looks to his lead General. “Finn, we need to find him and take him out before he can rally his troops. The First Order is still very weak even if they’ve got their leader back.”

“I agree.”

“Take Rey with you. If you can’t destroy his base or his ship, maybe she can put a sword through him.”

Finn grins, “She got him once before on the Starkiller,” he reminds everyone proudly. “Watch that speech again and look for the scar. It’s courtesy of Rey of Jakku.”

Inside, Rey quakes at the assignment. She sputters, “But I’m supposed to meet with the new Chancellor next week . . . ”

“That can wait. I’ll send your regrets. Don’t worry. She’ll understand that our Jedi needs to protect the Republic. Rey, go bring Ren to justice. Go end the war,” Poe exhorts. “And someone please get it on tape this time—I want something I can release to the holonet as proof of death.”

Again, all eyes are on her. Rey just nods—what else can she do? No one here will understand that she doesn’t want to kill the former Ben Solo. The reasons are many and they are complicated. They are also as logical as they are guided by personal emotions. She needs Ben as a teacher and as a colleague to take on Darth Sidious. But she also wants him as a friend and maybe as a lover. Even before their relationship bloomed, she mourned the man she was bonded to in the Force for life. It’s hard to explain, but she is deeply attached to Ben in strange and enduring ways, even if it wasn’t enough to accept the future he offered her. But given a different set of circumstances, she might be living with him now in exile. Instead, she’s just been tasked with killing him.

Poe is still smarting about being upstaged. “This was some stunt he pulled . . . what is he thinking?”

“We pricked his pride with those surrender terms,” Finn speculates. “But it did flush him out.” He shrugs. “Maybe Ren was hurt and not killed? Maybe that explains where he’s been?”

“That speech was ridiculous,” Poe vents further. “Imagine anyone falling for that Neo-Imperialist crap again . . .”

“There were plenty of dog whistles there for his supporters,” Finn comments. “His language was classic First Order manifesto stuff.” 

“Yes, and a third of the galaxy just cheered,” Rey softly volunteers. 

It earns her a glare. “Yeah—the stupid third!” Poe jeers. 

“He gives them hope. He’s their leader,” she quietly persists.

“Everyone hated him,” Poe disagrees. “All of our Intel showed that. Now, we know they tolerated him because Palpatine was using him all along.”

“He’s all they have left,” Rey points out. “He stands between them and defeat. They’re going to learn to love him.”

“Not if I can help it,” Finn chimes in. “His return to leadership will be short. His reign is about to end.” Finn might have qualms about hunting down the First Order officer corps, but he has no such scruples with Kylo Ren. Kylo Ren’s a guy everyone loves to hate. Especially Finn who has an artificial spine thanks to the man.

“Play it again,” Poe requests. “Let’s see it again.”

Someone scrambles to sync their device to project to the conference room screen. Then everyone watches as Kylo Ren’s surprise message plays a second time.

Rey gets lost for a minute in his image, thinking of the man she secretly knows and not today’s bitter, blustering public figure. Her eyes wander to Ben’s mouth as he speaks. It conjures thoughts of those lips on her lips, on her throat, and on her breasts. The memory of that forbidden, confusing, amazing night of pleasure gives Rey an involuntary shiver she hopes no one catches. Resolutely, she blinks and resets her attention. She can’t let her mind wander those directions. She made her decision. He made his decision as well.

She’s standing amid a very hostile audience for Kylo Ren. But while everyone around her bristles at his words and demeanor, Rey tries to view the message without a partisan pro-Republic bias. If she were one of the billions of downtrodden First Order sympathizers living in the Rim, would she trust her future to this man? Or would she be convinced to give the Republic another chance? Might she just be tired of war? Or would she be embittered and dug into her disgruntlement? There is such a disconnect between the two sides of the galaxy, Rey knows. For what the Republic worlds—especially the Core—see as a war of aggression, the First Order powerbase on the Rim considers to be a revolt. Those perspectives are revealing of deeper problems. For the colonial-minded Core systems are an exclusive club who think they are the galaxy and everyone else is to be tolerated under the guise of diversity that mostly comes across as condescension. Whereas the resentful Rim worlds see themselves as upstarts constantly elbowing for a seat at the table that is rightfully theirs. 

But here’s the thing--none of this is new. Ben is right when he refers back to the Confederacy, Rey judges. The First Order is the current champion of the Rimmers’ cause, but there have been others. For decades now, the outlying systems have sought to be heard. Over time, they’ve grown increasingly indignant about it. It has led them to accept violence as the solution. It’s what led to the Starkiller Base obliterating Hosnia. Thinking back on this morning’s dull briefing on the Senate elections, Rey starts to wonder if the solution to the war isn’t destroying the First Order remnants, instead it’s empowering them in the Senate. But is that too risky if the consummate Senate powerbroker Sheev Palpatine aka Darth Sidious is in the background? And wouldn’t that be a non-starter anyway for Finn and Poe?

Watching as the message concludes, Rey privately thinks today’s stunt is a huge win for Ben. Like the naughty child who craves attention—and who will act out to receive even negative attention—the First Order yet again postures to demand its way. It makes the former Ben Solo—who Rey is convinced was a very naughty child at some point—their perfect champion. He’s got the chip-on-his-shoulder, irrepressibly independent swagger that defines the Rim ethos. With his grandfather Darth Vader, he has plenty of Imperial bona fides. Plus, he’s young and oddly charismatic with his ‘let’s burn it all down’ nihilist exhortation that is perfectly attuned to his aggrieved loyalists. One thing is for certain, Kylo Ren without the mask comes across as very authentic. Watching him today, Rey can’t believe she ever thought Ben was Snoke’s victim to be liberated. Luke was right when he warned that things wouldn’t go the way she expected. That scene in Snoke’s throne room makes a lot more sense now that she knows Ben to be something of an opportunist true believer. He might have achieved everything he wanted that day had Snoke not turned out to be Palpatine’s puppet.

Around her, everyone is still processing the meaning of Kylo Ren’s message. “He managed to preempt our announcement of the surrender offer,” Poe observes sourly. “His return is the lead story on every newsfeed, I’ll bet. This must be feeding his enormous ego.”

“He also just told everyone who he really is,” Finn remarks. “Some of us knew he was a Skywalker, but that wasn’t common knowledge.”

“The press is already speculating that he’s Luke Skywalker’s son,” someone speaks up. “Because Leia’s son is—”

“Officially dead,” Poe finishes for him, “Killed at Skywalker’s temple years ago.” Poe sighs heavily. Leia Organa was his longtime mentor and Poe was something of a replacement son to her. Rey felt Leia’s loss keenly, but for Poe it was much worse. Rey watches as the young Resistance hero runs a hand down his face and softly laments, “She’d hate this . . . for so many reasons, she would hate this . . . She gave her life to try to prevent this.”

“She couldn’t prevent this,” Rey blurts out the truth. “Luke Skywalker couldn’t prevent this either.” All eyes turn to her. Rey feels her face redden as she awkwardly explains, “This is the will of the Force at work.”

“What does that mean?” Poe complains. 

“If Ren lives, then it’s for a reason.” She’s not making her point well, so Rey tries again. “Think about it--Luke and Leia died, but he lives.” The Force didn’t have to let Darth Plagueis bring Ben back. Ben Solo—Kylo Ren—lives only because the Force wills it. That means he must have a purpose. And since he’s a Skywalker, that purpose according to Jedi prophecy is balance. 

Truthfully, Rey is thoroughly convinced by Plagueis and Ben that balance is the only lasting solution to the galaxy’s conflicts. The problem is that they disagree about the means to go about finding balance. But the passionate, disruptor Ben Solo is integral to the ultimate goal, and he has the most knowledge and training to accomplish it, having been first a Jedi and then a Sith. Rey knows that she absolutely must not kill him. Whatever the resolution between her and Ben will be, it can’t be his death at her hands. If she has to rescue him from the First Order’s last stand and whisk him away to exile in defiance of the Republic, she will. Ben’s too important to die—as the Force has already demonstrated.

But at her side, Finn now boasts, “Ren won’t live for long.”

Grumpy Poe approves, “Good. Don’t delay. I don’t want this guy starting his own holonet channel leaving us daily updates. This was enough.”

“Rey and I are on it,” Finn responds.

She dutifully nods when Poe glances to her. It’s another deception she is instantly ashamed of.

“Hey--at least Ren didn’t appear with zombie Palpatine beside him. I guess there’s that upside,” some tone-deaf staffer tries to lighten the mood.

“It’s the only upside,” Poe grumbles humorlessly. He nods over at her and Finn. “General, Jedi, I’m counting on you to kill him for us.”

Hours later, the dust has settled and she and Finn are alone together aboard a shuttle en route back to the Republic fleet. Finn rather casually—too casually--asks her, “Why does Kylo Ren have your lightsaber?”

Rey gulps. She was hoping no one would notice that. But it didn’t get past Finn, who once swung the sword himself.

She answers with yet another half-truth. “I buried that sword in the sand on Tattooine, along with General Leia’s sword. All the Skywalkers were dead at that point . . . or so I thought. In my mind, it was time to bury the past . . . to honor the legacy of that family and move forward.” She leaves out the part about calling herself a Skywalker to a passing stranger. About accepting the mantle of privilege and pain that is the birthright of the Force’s demigod progeny. 

“So Ren dug it up?” Finn surmises.

“Who knows?” she hedges.

“How would he know where to look for it?”

“I buried it at his grandfather’s family’s homestead. But maybe—”

“Maybe the Force told him?” Finn guesses.

She just shrugs, unwilling to deepen her web of lies with speculation she knows to be false.

“So where did your sword come from?” Finn gestures to the weapon hanging at her waist.

“This? Well, that saber staff I made just wasn’t very practical. I went back to a more traditional design. There were instructions in Luke’s books,” she offers up a mostly true explanation. 

“I’ve never heard of burying lightsabers. Is that a tradition?”

She attempts to change the topic. “When all this is over and we start your training, we’ll have to find a crystal for your sword.”

Finn nods but warns, “We’re a long way from that.”

“Just say when,” Rey offers.

“So . . . you buried the two swords to bury the past?” Finn is still thinking about Tattooine.

“Does that seem weird?” Rey is defensive. “Because there wasn’t anything left of Luke and Leia themselves to bury. They disappeared into the Force.”

“It’s not weird . . . it’s just . . .”

“What?”

“That’s what Ren said in his message. To bury the past.”

She corrects, “He said to let the past die.”

“Is there a difference?” Finn asks.

She doesn’t really have an answer.

He continues, “Well, whether we bury the past or kill the past or the past dies, Ren needs to go.”

“I know,” she answers softly. It’s yet another lie. “Finn,” she looks to her friend, her heart pounding as she sinks deeper into deception. “Ren is mine to kill. I don’t want to do this with an airstrike or an ambush. I want to do it myself.”


	15. chapter 15

His return to being Supreme Leader Kylo Ren is shockingly swift. In a depressing statement about how decimated the officer ranks are, he has to announce who he is when he walks in. None of the remaining military leadership ever saw him without the mask—they were too low level to have ever met him. But once he chokes someone, people readily accept his identity. 

The current leaders are desperate. They immediately fall all over themselves to defer. That’s not the old First Order way, where powerplays for rank and gamesmanship over status were constant. But the men and women who remain aren’t the A team or even the B team. They are more like third string walk-on players for the battle for the galaxy. They never aspired to be in their current positions. It makes them enormously relieved that someone with experience and talent has finally shown up. And so, in the end, his return to command is a bloodless coup that takes all of ten minutes.  
  
Are any of the stragglers covert Final Order loyalists? They might be. So with an eye towards earning their allegiance, Kylo tells them he fought at Exogol alongside Emperor Palpatine. He was wounded and survived thanks to a secret Sith loyalist—ironic shout out to the unnamed Darth Plagueis there—who shielded him and healed him. Now, he is back to rally the troops and win the war. We don’t need Palpatine and we don’t need Snoke. We can do this together, Kylo promises. Our cause still has merit and my resolve has never been stronger. It’s just what the flagging spirits of the diehards need to hear. They snap to attention and get busy.   
  
Within an hour, Kylo ascertains just how bad things are. Supplies and munitions are short. The fleet is miniscule. The troops are limited. The officers are discouraged. The current effort has been to survive another day, but even that seems tenuous. 

Kylo quickly realizes the problem. Like the Empire, the First Order thrives on process and procedures. Its leaders are regimented and orderly thinkers. They advocate best practices and follow the chain of command. They swear oaths they keep and they believe the neo-Imperialist dogma. This mindset is, of course, all in furtherance of the cause of order. But it can have a chilling effect on independent thinking. These men and women don’t think outside the box, they reinforce the box. Such is the nature of most institutions, but particularly the fascist variety. Unfortunately, it’s a big handicap when the institution itself is threatened. Kylo decides that the Order needs creative, innovative thinking if it is to last another month. 

So he girds his top people for a paradigm shift. Forget everything you think you know, he instructs. Throw out the conventional wisdom about how we do things. We will have to do more with less. We will have to adapt to our circumstances. We no longer have any advantage. We are not the aggressors. We are the underdogs who have nothing but a dream . . . but we will win nonetheless.

What successful military operation in recent memory fits this description? The Rebellion.   
  
As soon as Kylo says the words, his hastily assembled leadership team becomes apoplectic. For the most hated villains in the First Order mindset are the leftwing terrorists who toppled the Empire. There is immediate, appalled but carefully respectful pushback. 

It’s his cue to double down on his First Order cred. Kylo now starts grandstanding for his cause. We will use Rebellion tactics against this latest Republic. We will humble them as they once humbled us, he promises. We will be as effective as they once were, but for our cause to reinstate the Empire. Those words are met with determined stares. No one agrees with him, but they fear too strongly opposing him. 

So Kylo amps up the rhetoric, chewing the scenery Darth Sidious style. Our ends justify our means. All that matters is that we win, Kylo growls with a true Sith’s ruthlessness. For the men of the Dark Side don’t have scruples and they could care less about honor and consistency. This is a straight up revenge play. It’s payback time for the Republic. Whether we fire the Starkiller at Hosnia or begin a series of terrorist bombings on Coruscant, we will do what it takes, he vows dramatically.

The analogy to the Rebellion is an imperfect one, since the newest Republic is still very much a work-in-progress. Poe Dameron and General Finn are hardly analogous to Darth Sidious and Darth Vader helming the decades-established Empire. If anything, the odds are far more even this time around, Kylo assesses. As bad as the current First Order may be, it isn’t the same longshot as Mon Mothma’s ragtag insurgency. Still, no one likes his strategy. However, no one has any better ideas. Moreover, these guys are mostly low-level officers who are long conditioned to following orders. They fall in line and comply with reluctance.  
  
But how to learn to think like covert rebels? How to plan guerrilla raids? Asymmetrical warfare is not taught in First Order military academies. No matter. Kylo himself will be the brains. He is actually well suited to the task. He grew up listening to enough war stories from his Rebel mother and uncle to know how these tactics work. Plus, he's Han Solo's son, so he knows a thing or two about improvising in a tight spot. And, well, his small-time criminal father did plenty of sneaking and stealing in his day. Kylo ruefully knows he is as much the heir to those dubious legacies as he is the heir to the Force traditions of the Jedi and the Sith. It's time to put those Rebel scum and smuggler scoundrel talents to good use.  
  
His first problem is lack of supplies and equipment. “We don't have the time or the ability to launch major offensives on all of those worlds to get what we need." Kylo gestures dismissively to the star map projected on the wall behind him that shows ten Rim systems now under Republic control that are critical to the war effort. He reasons, "We don't need to hold the source of the raw materials. We just need the finished products." 

“Those are our worlds. Those are our people,” an especially grouchy Colonel objects.

“We will liberate them in time,” Kylo promises. “But we are not ready to do it yet.”

“So what do we do now?” 

“We steal what we need.”

“We what??” the Colonel chokes.

“You heard me.” Kylo flashes a rare, devious grin. “The rebels never had a territorial strategy to gain resources. They stole their ships and hyperfuel. All those X-wings that blew up the first Death Star were originally Imperial ships,” he reminds everyone.

“So we need to plan a series of supply raids?" the flummoxed Colonel surmises. 

"Yes. And whatever we don't steal, we destroy." That's Kylo's new spin on the old strategy. He will scorch the earth to leave his enemy scrambling for resources just like he is. Because whatever supplies they can't take for their own use, he will make sure cannot be used against him. 

“Total war. No quarter,” he decrees. It’s an order these frustrated military types can get behind. When all else fails, go blow some enemy shit up. It does wonders for morale.

Fortunately, he left Zakuul with a trove of Intel to use to plan raids. The powered-down BB unit droid in the _Falcon_ and Rey’s comlink and datapad yield plenty of Republic security codes and transmission channels. Rey didn’t have much actual information, but she had access to a lot of high-level information. And now, the First Order has access to it as well. Since it’s being read by authorized and pre-existing means, there are no red flags to alert the Republic to the security breach. Rey apparently never reported the loss of her equipment—probably because it would raise questions she would rather not answer. It’s the lucky break the Order needs. His hacker types perform a massive data dump that very effectively compromises the Republic.

There is no time to waste. Three days later, the first supply raids commence. They are planned with multiple small operations occurring nearly simultaneously to blunt the severity of the enemy's response. Each raid also becomes something of a diversion for the others. The raids are intentionally lowkey so as not to attract a lot of notice. It’s on the scale of what local pirates might do. The tactic works so well the first time that Kylo replicates it again days later. He’s not even certain the enemy realizes the Order was behind the thefts, when all is said and done.

Then he personally helps to destroy a Republic supply convoy massing in the Rim near Wobani. It’s a hit-and-run ambush based off the tactics he recalls his father describing the drug lord Pykes using against their rivals the Hutts. While the First Order gains nothing of strategic value from obliterating the transports, it sure feels good. Plus, in just over two weeks’ time, he has a few small successes to his credit. It goes a long way to convincing his skeptical officers of the merits of his leadership.

While his military struggles to reestablish itself, Kylo turns to his second problem: public relations. He needs to change the narrative that the First Order is a lost cause. In the wake of Exogol, he also needs a message that will move the Order past Snoke and Darth Sidious to focus on him. The point is short and simple: Kylo Ren is back and so is the First Order. Sit tight because it’s not over yet.

The communications experts suggest a splashy reintroduction to the galaxy. Can he lose the helmet? That will stoke everyone’s interest. We need to give people a reason to watch, they tell him. Plus, let’s show the galaxy that this isn’t your parents’ Empire. That you are a young and dynamic leader, not some old, withered guy in a hood like your predecessors. That’s fine by him. His helmet was lost with Vader’s helmet on the _Finalizer_ and he hasn’t had time to get a new one.

Besides, there’s no reason to hide any longer. His family are all dead. Kylo decides that it is time to publicly own who he is. He’s the grandson of Darth Vader and the heir to the Empire. But also, the son of a Rebellion general Han Solo and the Republic matriarch and Resistance leader Leia Organa. That second part is key. He’s the privileged son of a Core world Senator and Princess who ditched Jedi training and defected to the First Order. He is the embodiment of the sentiment he wants the whole galaxy to emulate. An example of a young man who saw through the lies of the Jedi and the Republic and went seeking an alternative. 

His true identity was an open secret among the First Order leadership for years, but it is news to the current crew. Most take it with grumbling acceptance, like everything else he’s doing. The PR types, however, are delighted to have something juicy to work with. They plot a strategy to dribble out confirmation of the details to keep people speculating. They want to develop an air of dashing mystery surrounding the Skywalker scion Prince of Alderaan Supreme Leader Kylo Ren. He’s amused, but goes along with it. But he draws the line at rebranding himself Darth Ren. He’s not a true Sith and never will be. His cause isn’t Darkness, it’s balance. The Dark Side is just his current tool.

When the Republic sends over unsolicited surrender terms, Kylo pounces on the opportunity to get a jump on his enemy. He responds emphatically and publicly, with his helmet off as requested. Within minutes, he goes viral. Within an hour, he breaks the holonet. The Republic is caught flatfooted, looking inept and foolish.

Encouraged, Kylo turns his PR team loose. Go fight the enemy, he orders. We will fight on the land, in the air, and in space. You fight in chat rooms, on message boards, and on social media. Encourage discontent. Stir up trouble with anonymous posting. Be witty. Be entertaining. Do what you must to keep people reading. Deploy fake news and stoke discontent. Don’t make it easy for the Republic to hold their new elections.

With the war of weapons and the war of words refocused, Kylo now turns his attention to what truly matters: the war for the Force. That means Rey. Powerful but lost, well-intentioned but foolish, unreachable and untamable Rey. She’s his enemy girlfriend he can’t stop thinking about. His equal he needs for an ally. One half of an historic Force dyad that Darth Sidious destroyed and Darth Plagueis attempted to restore.

He’s still very angry about Rey’s latest rejection. Hurt that after all that has transpired between them, they are in the same position as they were on the Starkiller Base. Rey is hostile and mistrusting. He feels forced to fight her even though he would rather teach her. They shouldn’t be enemies, they should be friends, lovers, and fellow students of the Force. But instead, they seem perpetually stuck where they first began. It is beyond frustrating. 

Kylo is worried too for what may lie ahead if Rey persists in her plan to create a reformed Jedi Order. Darth Plagueis might kill her to keep that from happening. And while he himself doesn’t want to harm Rey, he does believe she’s making a terrible mistake. So what’s his next move? When they were at this point the first time, the Force bond brought them together. It becomes his go-to solution. He decides that his best hope for a future with Rey is to rekindle their special connection. If nothing else, it will allow him to keep a watchful eye on her from afar. 

In order to reestablish the bond, he has to see Rey in person. That shouldn’t be too hard. Now that he has announced himself to the galaxy, he expects the Republic to be after him. No doubt they will send their Jedi to kill him. All he has to do is wait for Rey to show up. But to make it easy, he leaks sketchy details about his upcoming planned visit to a First Order world so she’ll know where to look for him.

Will she come?

She does. His girl always takes the bait.

He feels her in the Force before she arrives. He’s in a meeting when the sensation occurs. Kylo abruptly rises to his feet. The room looks to him questioningly.

“She’s here,” he announces.

"Who’s here, Sir?” the ranking officer in the room asks.

“The Republic Jedi.”

The officer turns to his subordinate to instruct, “Alert all security. Lockdown the facility.”

“No,” Kylo preempts them. “Let her in. Carry on,” he commands as he heads for the door.

“Sir, where are you going?”

“To welcome my guest.”

“But Sir!”

Kylo doesn’t wait to hear more. He heads to the entrance of the empty municipal building he has purposely chosen for this moment. He stands feet planted at the top of the steps leading up to the front door. He’s waiting out in the open to make it easy for her. Will she come with troops? He’s ready, if she does.

Sure enough, here comes Rey tearing up in a speeder bike. She looks like a university student in nondescript casual clothes wearing a backpack with her hair in a ponytail. If it’s an effort at subterfuge, it fails spectacularly. For no matter what Rey wears, her Force betrays her. But dressed as she is, she’s adorably ordinary. She’s also alone, which is fortuitous.

Behind him two squads of stormtroopers now appear along with his worried officers. Everyone has a gun drawn to protect their reckless Supreme Leader who has presented himself for capture.

“Stand down,” he orders. “She’s mine. Do not interfere.”

“But Sir!”

“I will kill anyone who shoots,” he growls, his eyes never leaving Rey walking towards him. “Stand there and look tough if you must, but the penalty for disobeying me is immediate, painful death. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Rey walks up to the bottom of the steps. She shrugs off her backpack and draws out a lightsaber hilt. She’s very nonchalant about it. If she’s scared, it doesn’t show. His girl is fierce. 

He watches as her eyes flit across the small army assembled behind him. “So this is a trap?” she surmises. 

“You’d be disappointed if it wasn’t.” He eyes her new weapon. “Where’d you get the sword?”

“Our mutual friend.”

“Is it red?” he smirks.

She responds by lighting it. It’s blue, like he expects.

He refuses to be provoked. But the act of aggression sets his pulse racing. This is weirdly like flirting. “I knew you were coming.”

“Yes, this is a trap. The goal is for me to come.”

“I meant I sensed your presence.” She is like an earthquake to his mind. “This is exactly the circumstance when you need to hide in the Force. Mind your training, Rey.”

She lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. “You won’t convince me to try your Dark Side tricks.” She shrugs off his teaching and sniffs, “I guess we should have started with an airstrike.”

“This is a school and you know it. Is the Republic prepared to slaughter younglings to kill me?”

“These days, they might be,” she admits. She shoots him a warning look. “Don’t make a habit of using human shields. Poe and Finn want to end this war.”

“Is that what you’re here for?”

Rey sidesteps the question. She starts to spin her saber. She’s showing off. “How’s the leg?”

“It’s healed.”

“I see your eyes are brown again. Your yellow Sith eyes are scary.”

That’s the point. “Extreme Darkness is dangerous.”

“So . . . this means you’re back to normal?”

“I have my strength back.”

“Are you sure? Because I could go easy on you,” she offers with the ghost of a smile about her lips. Her eyes find the troopers behind him. “Since you feel the need for reinforcements . . . ”

“They won’t interfere.”

He walks down a few steps, still declining to light his own sword. It hangs at his waist in a showy display of forbearance. “Do we need to fight?” he asks. It’s a serious question.

“It’s what we do.”

“It’s not all we do.”

Rey’s cheeks turn bright pink at that comment. 

He turns to the troopers. “Secure the perimeter. Shoot anyone who attempts to intervene or record this. I don’t want it on the holonet.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Rey snorts. “You’re the holonet’s newest star influencer.” She performs another flashy spin and juts out her hip, looking every inch a badass bitch. Then she invites, “Are we doing this?”

“If we must.” With a sigh, he calls his own weapon to his hand and lights it. She readies herself for a fight, but he stops her. “Wait. I have the high ground.” He proceeds down the remaining steps to her level before they begin. “Your move,” he offers Rey the opening attack. It’s what passes for gallantry from him.

She answers with a leap and a swing. The battle begins.

“How many times did you watch that video?” he goads her as they exchange opening blows. “Did you like and subscribe?”

“I’m not a First Order groupie.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.” He easily swats away her weapon aimed for his feet. Then, he returns the move just to watch her jump. “You have an open offer to be my Empress,” he drawls.

She blocks his swing before she answers coolly, “Oh? I wasn’t aware you had an Empire still.”

“Give me time.”

Rey responds in true Jedi fashion, “The oppression of the Sith will never return!”

"I’m not a true Sith, and you know it,” he retorts. Observing her swordplay clinically, he approves. “You’ve been working on your forms.”

“A little.”

“I can see the improvement. But your timing is off.” And where’s the Force push? This girl always fights dirty. So far, all she’s doing is lackluster saber passes and half-assed lunges.

Her eyes dart to his surrounding troopers. “Can they hear us?”

“Probably not. Just ignore them. Say what you came to say.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go ahead.”

“Alright, then. What are you doing??”

What does it look like? He swings. “I’m fighting you.”

“You’re not even trying. You’re just defending,” she complains.

“You wanted this, not me.”

She disengages and they circle one another warily. Rey tries again. “I want a real answer. What are you doing with the First Order? More war won’t bring balance. Plus, you can’t win. It’s over! It’s been over since Exogol! What could you possibly achieve at this point?”

“Did you come here to convince me to surrender? Or are you proposing we settle this with trial by combat?”

“Surrender is a perfectly acceptable option—“

“No, it’s not.”

“—And it will save lives. It will let the galaxy move forward in peace,” she argues.

Hardly. “The Republic’s peace is a lie,” he hisses. “Dameron won’t change anything. He’s more of the same. If we lose, it’s only a matter of time before the next civil war tears the galaxy apart again.”

“I know.” Rey looks deflated as she admits, “I know . . .”

He vents, “They are making all the wrong decisions punishing the Rim and ignoring the peoples’ complaints. Hunting down the Order will just compound the resentment. Your friends should be offering a few concessions and a general amnesty.”

“I know.”

She looks and sounds sincere. “Then why are you here urging me to surrender?” He’s confused about her motives.

She stops her stalking and lowers her blade.

“Well?”

Rey looks around at their armed audience before she answers softly. “Because if you give up, they won’t kill you.”

He doesn’t believe that for a second. At the very least, there is a prison cell on Coruscant with his name on it. But whatever. He’s far more interested in the subtext of her explanation than in a debate about its merits. With relief—and no small degree of smug preening— he replies, “I knew you cared.”

Rey frowns at his gloating. “Of course, I care.”

That was never a foregone conclusion, but it’s definite encouragement. Finally, Kylo feels like he is making headway.

She starts to argue her case. “Those surrender terms are negotiable. You need to send back a counterproposal. Keep your public stance of defiance but start covert negotiations. Ask for that amnesty . . . demand more Senate seats for the Rim . . . promise that your people will reconcile and work within the Republic system and I will help you get some political muscle for your supporters.”

She’s so naive. “This isn’t selling scrap for portions, Rey. There is no deal to be had. My people built Starkiller Base. They’re way past attempting to reform a broken system of government their grandparents first saw die.”

She warns, “If you don’t agree to a peace settlement, this could go very badly.” Her voice is shrill at the prospect.

“I know.”

“Then why are you doing this?” she half wails. “This is pointless suicide! Everyone thought you were dead! You could have stayed dead and watched from the sidelines.”

“I didn't want to make it too easy for you and your friends,” he smirks. 

“The only person who benefits from this war is—“

“Your grandfather?” he preempts her reference to the old Emperor who their audience—along with the rest of the galaxy—thinks is dead. 

“Yes!” Angered, Rey resumes swinging.

They both fall silent now, concentrating on the swordplay. Rey is intent on beating him, looking for the winning hit. He, by contrast, defends while he looks for his opening. There it is. They lock swords and he uses his superior strength and leverage to wrench the sword hilt from her grip. Her weapon goes flying out of reach. Rey is neatly disarmed without a scratch on her. It’s perfect. Everything is proceeding according to plan.

As Rey reacts, she loses concentration. It’s the distraction that permits him to freeze her in place. Extinguishing his own weapon and calling hers to his grip with the Force, he approaches and declares the contest won. “To the victor go the spoils.” 

As dismayed Rey stands heaving against his power, he steals her consciousness. She instantly slumps. He scoops her up. Turning to his lead officer, Kylo announces, “Our work here is done.” Time to head for his shuttle and then back to one of three remaining First Order star destroyers. 

Once onboard his meager flagship, Kylo insists on carrying Rey to the detention center himself. He lays her down gently and then steps back to let the regular staff secure her in the interrogation chair. 

“Anything special, Sir?”

“No. That will be all.” He dismisses the men so he can be alone with sleeping Rey.

He reminisces a moment about how this was how they first met. That business in the Takodana woods doesn’t count. It was in the interrogation cell on the Starkiller Base when they first exchanged words. Angry words. She was the humble scavenger in rags with amazing talent of which she was wholly unaware. She had a pretty face but dirty fingernails and a no-nonsense demeanor that was unlike any woman he had ever met before. He was hooked. When he looked in her mind, her backstory was as extreme as his, just in different ways. Then she saw into his mind and it was scary but exciting. By the time she said the words ‘Darth Vader’, he was falling fast and hard. 

He has always believed that moment between them is what triggered their dyad. He didn’t go seeking it. She didn’t want it either. But the Force sensed opposing equals and bonded them nonetheless. He didn’t know that until later, of course. In the moment, he thought the Force had sent him a student. Here was the girl who could help him kill Snoke. All he had to do is woo her and teach her and the galaxy would be theirs. How naive it all seems looking back. Snoke was a puppet, he was a pawn, and Rey would refuse his offer twice. But it is with that same foolish hope in mind--that he and Rey might help one another, and love each other, and they themselves and the galaxy would prosper for it--that he does what he does now. 

With a flick of one finger, he activates the interrogation table controls with the Force. Rey’s reclining position lifts up. Now she’s mostly upright, like prisoners normally are questioned. But he takes it farther than usual, standing her straight. Held in the chair off the ground, she’s eye level with him. It’s perfect. He steps close. 

He arouses her from Force sleep with a gentle mental nudge. Her eyes open and for the briefest of moments, they are soft focused, heavy lidded, and welcoming. Like bedroom eyes the morning after a night of passion. 

“Ben.” 

She says his name—his birth name—and it is a shared secret between them. His heart skips a beat like always when he hears his old name on her lips. But the impression is fleeting for as Rey gathers her wits, she recognizes where she is and comprehends her captivity. Now, her eyes are anything but soft. His girl is pissed.

“Comfortable?”

She twists against the restraints. “Only you would do this.”

He’s enjoying her frustration. She’s hot in bondage. “It was for old time’s sake,” he quips. “I wasn’t ready for you to leave. I missed you. Did you miss me?” he goads.

“Hardly. I was sent to kill you!”

Yes, he knows. “I was hoping you would come. The Resistance fell for my trap . . . as did you. They sent you to kill me but you came to warn me and to broker a peace. Whose side are you on?” he wonders snarkily.

“You won’t get any leverage using me as a hostage,” she growls.

“You’re my guest,” he corrects her.

Like usual, it’s easy to provoke her. Rey crows, “You've lost! We’ve won! The war is over!” It’s the same tone of vehemence she used when she announced that she had found Luke Skywalker. If only that feat had solved all her problems . . . naive Rey still hasn’t learned that nothing important is simple. There are no easy answers. 

Rey looks increasingly annoyed when he does not react. “We’ve won! Get that through your head and compromise, Ben! Don’t be stupid and get yourself killed.” 

He sniffs, “You know better. No one has won until Darth Sidious is dead and until the Force is balanced.”

She looks away. “Spare me the speech. I’ll never join you.”

That succeeds in getting under his skin. Nothing rattles him like more rejection from this girl. He scowls as he looms closer. They are inches apart. “You heard nothing I said on Zakuul, did you? Rey, you don’t get to choose—the Force doesn’t care what you want. It doesn’t care what I want either! People think we have such power, and we do. But we are powerless to the whim of fate.”

His intensity gets through to her or maybe it’s their close proximity. But Rey abruptly falters in her staunch Republic posturing. She blinks at him and mutters, “I was sent to kill you but I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“I know.” Her candor evaporates the sting of her rejection. It’s an apology of sorts. Encouraged, he moves in very close now, starting to execute the strategy he has planned for their reunion. That night on the _Falcon_ , he hadn’t expected things to go so far, so fast. But this situation he has anticipated and plotted like a good Sith. 

Her eyes lock with his. “You knew?”

“Yes.” He rests gloved hands on her waist and leans to whisper huskily in her ear. “I’ve never seen you fight so badly.”

They are cheek to cheek. Is she feeling the tension in the Force they create? Because the Force feels as excited as he is for his impending big move.

Rey inhales. Yes, she’s nervous by his nearness. Her thoughts are a mess, but one concern rises to the forefront: _is he going to kiss me?_ Kylo has to repress a coy smile in response. He’s long known that Rey is far less indifferent to his appeal than she pretends. 

“We’re not personal enemies,” she breathes out her rationale.

He starts nuzzling her neck, murmuring, “I hope not.”

“But we are at political odds,” she contends, still facing straight ahead. 

He moves to drop a kiss beneath her ear. “We don't have to be.”

“We do,” she replies matter of fact, still pretending to ignore his attentions. “But I don’t think we should resolve those differences with swords.”

Kylo’s hands move upwards from her waist. His next words are spoken between kisses in a row down her jawline. “I had you three times . . . once I could have taken your head . . . twice I could have hacked your sword arm . . . made you a real Skywalker,” he chuckles darkly.

“I wasn’t at my best.”

“You need my training.” He relocates his lips to her cheekbone now. Drawing out the leadup to the real lover’s kiss he intends. He’s trying hard to make smooth moves to disarm and distract her. He wants Rey relaxed and receptive. 

“You need a teacher,” he chides softly between cheek kisses.

“I know,” she sighs and closes her eyes. It’s just the signal he was waiting for.

He pulls back slightly so that his lips hover directly across from hers. The anticipation is killing him. Time to make his move. “I will help you,” he promises, lifting gloved hands to cup at her cheeks. “This will help you.” 

It’s time. He pulls her face forward as his lips claim hers for a deep passionate kiss. It’s not a surprise for Rey. She responds instantly. And that’s when he thrusts his mind hard and deep into hers. 

She wrenches her lips free and gasps. Eyes shut tightly against the pain as she reacts. “No, Ben! No!”

He follows her movement, intent on using physical touch to promote their mental connection. His hands are on her body as he presses himself close. His cheek is hard against her averted cheek. His mind burrows into hers. It’s too late to stop him, he’s already in. 

"Yes,” he coos with a softness at odds with the brutality of his actions. “Bond with me again.”

She chokes out, “No!”

“Half of my power lies in you. I need this. We need this—“

“Get out!”

“You want this, you just don’t know it.”

“Get out!” She growls between gritted teeth. He feels her mustering her defenses belatedly, preparing to push back. Good . . . good. It’s just as he has hoped.

He’s still flush to her form that is firmly strapped to the interrogation chair. His face is very determinedly placed side by side with hers, her thrashing held to a minimum by his hand at her temple. She would be helpless except Rey has the Force. Lots and lots of Force.

He keeps talking as he senses her anger swell. “This way I can protect you. I will be able to feel you and to reach you—“

“So will Sidious if he gets in your head!”

“We are stronger together—“

“You left me!” she shrieks in his ear. “You walked out on me!” In his mind he sees what she really wants to say but doesn’t: _you fucked me and left . . . I should never have slept with you . . . I’ll never do that again . . . you’ll never be who I need you to be . . ._

He wants to probe more at her regrets from their night, but it’s an especially guarded set of emotions. It’s his own fault for having taught her mental defenses. And so, before he can ascertain more, she heaves his mind out. She ejects him quite effectively. But yet again, like on the Starkiller Base, her novice skills combined with her extreme power lead her to overshoot the effort. Rey’s mind pushes him out and promptly stumbles headlong into his mind from sheer momentum.

He groans with satisfaction. Yes . . . yes, this is perfect.

This time he will not resist. For this exchange is what he has been hoping to provoke. He surrenders to her mind in his. In the moment, she is angry and Dark. It’s delicious. 

“Yes. Push into me. Harder—HARDER!” he practically roars, his emotions feeding off hers thanks to their mental connection. It’s a rush of rage and adrenaline. He loves it. “SHOW ME YOUR POWER!” he hollers. And wait, did he say that out loud? Because the troopers outside the door just heard every word.

Pissed off Rey does not disappoint. She’s all up in his mind within a heartbeat’s time. He has lots of thoughts right now and they’re all about her. About how much he misses her. About what a big mistake she is making. About how he thinks reinstituting the bond is the best chance of them reconciling. He’s doing this for her own good, for their good, and for the galaxy’s good as well. Their love is the will of the Force that will be everyone’s happily-ever-after. Plus, even if they never balance the Force, they will have lots of glorious sex until Darth Sidious kills them both. For the things he plans to do to this girl when he gets a second chance in bed . . . He has a long list of fantasies for them to act out. But at the top of the list is convincing her to put those gorgeous lips on his—

“Eeeew! No!” she balks. “Absolutely not!”

Yikes! He really wishes she hadn’t seen THAT.

Rey pulls back mentally in an abrupt recoil that hurts more than her initial intrusion. But no matter. That interlude was a rough equivalent to their exchange on the Starkiller Base. He’s satisfied.

“There. Let’s hope that’s enough.” He steps back to release her. “I’m sorry it hurt. But it was necess—“

He never finishes the word. Rey slams him hard against the wall behind him with a mighty Force push. He goes down in a sprawl. As he starts to get up, she throws him down again. Harder the second time. It’s a sucker punch that is rather Dark of her. 

“What. Have. You. Done??” Rey is aghast. “This is revenge? Is that it?” she hisses, her face wet with perspiration. And also, could that be tears? “You lured me here to bond us?” She is irate.

“Lured is a nice word for an assassination mission,” he drawls from the floor.

“I told you I wasn’t trying to kill you—“

“Then why did you come?”

“I had to!”

“People like us don’t have to do anything!” he counters. “Why did you come? Tell me!” When she looks away, he insists, “Tell me!”

She sputters out words as he climbs to his feet. “I wanted to see you . . . to see what you’d become . . . and to talk to you . . . We do far too much fighting and not enough talking—“

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“I thought maybe we could have a conversation about where this is all heading . . . that you could be convinced to surrender. Ben, what could you possibly hope to achieve with the First Order at this point?”

“Victory.”

“Oh, come on—“

“I’m serious.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes. I won’t surrender.”

“Then, I’ll be forced to kill you and I don’t want to kill you! Especially now if we’re bonded. Oh, Force, what have you done??” Rey looks like she is beginning to panic. “Now, I’ll never be rid of you . . . until someone kills you . . .”

Yes, that’s the point. She can’t cut him out of her life and run away to the Republic.

“I can’t believe you did that . . . why? Why??” she wails, her anger giving way to despair. “Why would you do that? We’re enemies again now—"

He refutes that statement. “We are not enemies. This war isn’t about us. I have no war with you.”

“You are the Supreme Leader of the—“

“None of that matters for you and me.” She’s confused, so he rushes to assure her, “Rey, you will always be welcome here. I don’t care about politics. I only care about the Force.”

She bares her teeth at him, eyes squinted as she yet again rejects him, “I’ll never join you! Get that through your head!”

Rey starts to thrash against her restraints again. Straining against her tight confinement. It prompts him to free her. Having her in the interrogation chair undermines his point about them not being enemies. 

“Let me get you down—“

“I don't need your help!” She closes her eyes and concentrates as she summons the Force. Seeing what’s coming, he flicks a finger in the direction of the control panel to trigger the release lever. The interrogation chair opens as she concentrates, straining both bodily and in the Force. With Rey positioned upright and leaning, the abrupt freedom sends her falling forward into him.

“Ooof!” She grunts as he catches her, sending them both reeling off-balance for a moment. But he rights himself and doesn’t let go. He holds her steady in his arms. Without the height boost of the chair, she is flush against his chest.

“Get off!”

He tightens his hold to a vice grip. She needs to hear this. “I bonded us so that you will never be alone. The Force won’t let you hide. There is no place you can go where I will not be able to reach you.”

“Get off!” she tussles with him.

“It works both ways. You can always find me. I took a risk doing this, but you are worth it.”

He releases her now. Stepping back to give her space. “I did this to protect you. I meant what I said—you will always be safe with me. No matter how this war unfolds and what your friends do, you are always safe with me. You and only you.” Not her traitor general or her other friends. 

“You knew I didn’t want this bond! And you did it anyway! You had no right!”

“I know.” He knew she would react this way. But since persuasion has failed, this is his next recourse. He regrets it came to this, which is really what he means when he adds, “I’m sorry.”

“‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t help! Can we undo it?”

“No.” He hopes not. 

“Are you sure it worked?”

“Time will tell.” This had better work. Because he’s not getting a second chance to try again.

“This is such a mistake! You should never have done that!”

He is offended. It prompts him to growl back, “We are not a mistake. We are the will of the Force.”

“You’re obsessed!” she accuses. 

“No.” Well, maybe a little. It’s just that he lies awake at night thinking of this girl. About how much he wishes she could see that they are perfect for each other. The first recognition of her Force imprint earlier today had set his pulse racing. She is like a fever that won’t break, like a dream that won’t die. A heady mix of suffering and frustration that he’s sure is worth the effort. “I think I’m in love,” he blurts out before he can stop himself.

“In love?” she whispers. Her face drains of color and she takes a step back. It’s not the reaction he is hoping for. But somehow, all the truths he tells this girl are badly received at the outset. That confession—as much a surprise to him as to her—is no different.

“Don’t say that . . . please don’t say that . . . “ She briefly covers her face with her hands. But the vulnerability passes. She’s quickly back to being her usual tough, blunt self. “So now what?”

“We wait.”

“I told you—how many times must I tell you—I’m not joining you!”

“I meant we wait for the bond. Rey, you are free to go.” 

This has been his plan all along. To establish the bond and set her free. He wants her to return of her own volition. They are in a relationship. She’s not a prisoner. 

He gestures to the door and it slides open with the Force. Then he adds an awkward plea, “Unless you want to stay, that is . . . ” _Stay. Choose me, not the Republic. Choose the Force, not politics. Choose the future, not the past._

But Rey is already striding out the door. He rushes to catch up. 

“I’ll take that.” Rey plucks her lightsaber from the hands of one of the waiting stormtroopers with the Force. The other troopers immediately aim their weapons at this aggression from the prisoner, but he waves them off.

Ignoring them, she demands, “How do I get home?”

“Steal a TIE and jump to Coruscant. We can wipe any secure information remotely. You won’t get anything interesting to take with you,” he warns.

“Which way to the hangar bay?” She’s in no mood to linger. 

“Follow me.”

He leads the way and Rey, one of his staff officers, and a squad of troopers make haste for the hangar bay.

“Are you supposed to help me escape?” Rey wonders aloud from his side. “This seems very unorthodox. Usually, I’m sneaking around.”

Yes, like in his quarters on the _Finalizer_ , he remembers. He tries again. “Would you rather stay?”

She snorts. “Dream on, Sith.”

He takes the sneer in stride, shooting her a look. “It’s an open offer, Jedi.”

They halt on the edge of the busy hangar bay. Rey looks around at her options. “Are they all fueled up?”

“Yes. We stole the hyperfuel from one of your bases.”

She grunts. “Then I’m stealing it back. That one.”’ She points to the fighter nearest the airlock. “I’ll take that Interceptor.”

“That’s mine.”

“You fly a Silencer.”

“I did, but you stole my prototype.”

“Right. Endor. Endor was . . .”

“Not your best moment?”

“No, it wasn’t. But after today, I think you deserved that.” She turns to face him now. She fumes as she announces, “You should know that I’m going to do everything I can to block the bond. Everything,” she growls for emphasis.

“Go ahead. You’ll only prove my point when you fail. Destiny, Rey, we are—“

“Don’t say it!” She holds up a hand and cuts him off. There isn’t a person in the First Order who would dare such disrespect, but Rey does. In front of witnesses, no less.

To save face, he puts on his best smug smirk. 

She immediately changes the topic. “Will you think about what I said? About negotiating with the Republic?”

Not a chance. “You’re way out in front of Dameron.”

She doesn’t deny it. “I’m trying to find a peaceful solution that will save your life.”

“Oh, the irony of that statement coming from my assassin.”

She huffs, “I’m leaving now.”

Ignoring their many onlookers, he proposes, “Goodbye kiss?”

She doesn’t answer. She just walks off. 

So he calls after her, “Come back any time you want to pretend to kill me.”

She keeps walking. Faster. 

“May the Force be with you,” he hollers after her. 

_Fuck you, Ben_. 

And wait—she didn’t say that last part out loud. And yet, he understood it plainly in his mind. And along with it, plenty of Rey’s confused and upset emotions.

Rey halts mid-stride as realizes as well. She whirls and gapes at him from across the hangar bay. “Oh, no!” she breathes out in a voice that carries.

“It worked!” he crows, feeling elated. For that was their bond. He just heard her thoughts directly to his mind. He can’t suppress his ear-to-ear grin. Because oh, is he going to have fun with this. He wants to high five the universe. Thank you, Force. 

White-faced Rey exits immediately. The reckless girl jumps to lightspeed from behind the open airlock in a move Han Solo must have taught her. 

“Why did you let that prisoner go?” his watching staff officer asks. The man is incredulous. And, given the strange dynamic between him and Rey, the question deserves an answer.

So Kylo responds, “She’s not a prisoner. She’s a highly placed, deeply embedded spy within the Republic leadership.”

“She’s their Jedi.”

“Not exactly.” Kylo has no idea who among the remaining officers has Final Order allegiance. But if this guy’s not already Final Order, some Sith loyalist is bound to approach him along with the rest of his inner circle sooner or later. For now, Kylo is betting that Palpatine’s men are laying low. Waiting to see if he will do Darth Sidious’ work for him yet again. Sidious has everything to gain from the First Order snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. Kylo’s counting on that to protect him from any reprisals in the short term. 

And so, he tells the curious staffer what Darth Sidious wanted him and Rey to believe: “The Republic’s Jedi is really Emperor Palpatine’s granddaughter.”

“Sir?” the man blinks.

“She goes by Rey but she was born Reina Palpatine. For obvious reasons, the heir to the Empire does not use her full name.”

“I see.”

“She is not to be harmed,” Kylo orders. “She may be captured, but not killed. Publish that directive to all commands. I want a no-kill order on the Republic Jedi. I will deal with her myself.”

“You’re sure she is one of us?”

“Absolutely. She will come home to us when the time is right. I have foreseen it,” he lies.


	16. chapter 16

Rey doesn’t return to Coruscant. She returns to the Republic fleet, which requires some explaining since she arrives in a TIE fighter. Upon landing, she dashes everyone’s hopes when she admits that she failed to kill Kylo Ren. Rey is so convincingly dejected from her experience that Finn asks for only the bare minimum details of her cover story. Since everyone trusts her, it is shockingly easy to mislead. Don’t worry, Finn encourages as he wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders, you’ll get him next time. Rey nods and looks away. She’s extremely disappointed, but not for the reason everyone thinks. 

  
  
The Force bond is back.

  
  
That means she is tethered to Ben forever. Their lives and minds will never be wholly separate. He says it’s for her protection and so she will never be alone. But she hears control and Dark obsession underlying those words. It scares her. She feels trapped. The bond isn’t some romantic connection blessed by the Force, it’s more like a tether to a stalker who she can never break free from until one of them dies. It’s also the dyad power that Darth Sidious covets. She fears this has all the hallmarks of a tragedy in the making.

  
  
What are her options now? Where does she go from here? She can’t keep up the ruse of perpetually trying and failing to kill the enemy forever. That’s in part why surrender has strong appeal. Ben will get some deal short of execution that will keep him alive to train her and to fight Sidious. But if surrender is not an option, is killing Ben—or allowing Ben to be killed—her only exit strategy? Rey has never wanted that outcome. Ben’s too important to the galaxy and to her personally.

  
  
But how will she ever explain the bond if someone discovers it? And how will she explain the deep morass of lies she is quickly drowning in? Keeping the secret of Ben’s resurrection and the bond from the Republic is a huge breach of trust. And now, she has faked a failed assassination attempt as a ruse to pitch surrender to Ben. Rey shudders to think of how Finn and Poe might react if they knew the truth. Especially the part about sex in the _Falcon_ and an abandoned plan to disappear together.

  
  
But most of all, Rey worries that all this deception is . . . well, Dark. The secrets she keeps are the antithesis of the Jedi way of transparency, trust, and accountability to the Republic’s top decisionmakers. It makes her feel like a fraud. For around Finn’s flagship, her contributions at the Starkiller, Crait, and Exogol are well known. She’s the hero everyone expects the Jedi student of the Skywalker twins to be. Rey is treated with respect and recognized by strangers. It’s the first time in her life that she has actual status. It’s nice, but it compounds her guilt. 

  
  
While she’s not formally part of the Republic military, Finn insists on giving her a seat at the table for important briefings and strategy discussions. He wants her input and advice as the resident Jedi Knight. And since she has nothing else to do before she is maneuvered into making another attempt at killing Kylo Ren, Rey can hardly refuse. It’s how she finds herself sitting in a conference room listening to the Republic plan its next series of missions. 

  
  
Poe Dameron likes to describe the First Order as a two-headed beast. Their armies were just part of their threat. For, following the time-honored example of fascist regimes everywhere, Snoke combined his military buildup with a civilian power grab. The First Order’s highly equipped, well manned war machine is mostly gone now. But its political machinery still remains firmly in place in many Rim systems. And now, it has become the Republic’s latest target.

  
  
The origins of Snoke’s civic infrastructure began decades ago when the First Order filled the power vacuum on outlying worlds that the New Republic ignored. Largely unopposed by the neglectful Senate, the First Order built local governments, schools, and public welfare agencies. It ran charitable organizations, orphanages, and soup kitchens. The goal was as simple as it was transparent: Snoke set out to win the hearts and minds of average citizens. He wanted their trust and allegiance. To show them the efficiency and responsiveness of his neo-Imperialist vision. We don’t need the Republic, Snoke railed. We can solve our own problems.

  
  
For the most part, the plan worked, Rey judges.

  
  
While some of the stormtrooper ranks are stolen children like Finn, far more are kids handed over to the First Order by their own impoverished parents. In exchange for a promise of a better life, parents willingly surrendered children they could not care for. That’s how popular the First Order is on certain systems. The First Order officer corps are mostly graduates of the various military academies Snoke built across the Rim. Admission to those academies was a mark of distinction and a ticket to a better life. Kids everywhere from Tattooine to Dantooine angled for a spot. But Snoke also trained civil engineers, doctors, lawyers, and bureaucrats to do his bidding in other settings. These people do not wield weapons, but they might die fighting for their cause anyway. Moreover, many are educated professionals and not brainwashed recruits programmed since birth. They are intelligent, accomplished, and free-thinking people who affirmatively chose the First Order. 

Part of what Snoke was doing is showing up the incompetence of the New Republic. But he was also demonstrating the merits of his promised future. The Rim would provide for itself and no longer be dependent on handouts from the Senate. Sure, you might surrender some freedoms, but look at what you get in return. You can earn a fair wage at an honest trade. You can live modestly but independently. Your communities will be free of crime and corruption. Your children will get an education and a chance to better themselves. That’s more than ninety percent of Rim dwellers had before. It’s a tradeoff that many were—and still are—prepared to make for peace and order. 

Incredibly, the powers-that-be on Hosnia let it happen. For years, the New Republic followed an unofficial policy of ignoring Snoke, refusing to acknowledge him as an adversary. On the rare occurrence when senior lawmakers other than Leia Organa did mention the Supreme Leader, it was dismissively. He’s a joke and his followers are an amalgamation of the Imperial remnants. Pay him no heed. He’s a Palpatine wannabe with an outdated vision of the future that only his crazy bantha-like followers believe. Don’t give him the satisfaction of listening and taking him seriously. The First Order threat is minimal and largely contained to worlds no one cares about. 

They were wrong . . . very, very wrong for reasons Rey worries are still an issue.

Back then, the New Republic’s leaders were blind to the First Order’s creeping groundswell of support. They simply could not conceive of why anyone would follow Snoke, let alone the impoverished in the Rim, many of whom are alien or near-human, but not-human species. Those are exactly the people the Republic thinks should be their supporters. But increasingly, they were not. Too many years of neglect and broken promises alienated those constituencies. In time, they were ready to try something new, especially since it looks like the familiar old Empire. Because how bad can it be? What do they have to lose?

The inability of many in the Republic to entertain the thought that decent citizens might support the First Order for sensible reasons—like jobs and opportunity—amounts to an epic blind spot. Moreover, the Core media’s mean-spirited condescension repels Rim dwellers who see nothing of themselves in the caricatures of First Order followers as bigoted, backward, greedy, hateful, stupid losers. Rey’s no political scientist, but she has firsthand familiarity with the plight of working men and women. They’ve been taken for granted far too long and their patience finally came to an end. It culminated in widespread cheers for the Starkiller Base destroying Hosnia.

A year later, none of that bitterness has been addressed by the Republic. The Resistance might have purported to represent the cause of the galaxy’s downtrodden, but the First Order actually did something about it. And so, while the war’s military conflict might be coming to a close, its political fight is still very much alive and well. Plus, with Senate elections looming, the First Order has a new weapon: ballots. Fearing that many First Order worlds will fight to the bitter end for Kylo Ren and then simply elect First Order zealots to the new Senate, Poe and Finn are looking to destabilize the enemy’s localized civilian leadership. Their solution is a steady march through the Rim systems to take out First Order civilian infrastructure and authority. In the parlance of the Republic leaders on Coruscant, these worlds are being ‘liberated.’ Poe has declared publicly that the Republic is bringing freedom and democracy to the Rim territories.

Can you really impose democracy? Rey is dubious. She sits listening in silence to Finn’s top officers describe courthouses and police stations as targets as they prepare to make war on ordinary civilians. The goal is to keep casualties to a minimum, but that seems more a hope than a certainty. Moreover, none of this is going to deter Kylo Ren, Rey knows. In fact, it might backfire and bolster his return to leadership. Rey keeps her opinions to herself, but she can’t help but feel that she’s an uneasy fit with the Republic military.

And then, to add to her discomfort, the Force bond abruptly opens. She’s in the conference room still, but suddenly she’s staring across the room at the enemy Supreme Leader Ren himself. Rey feels the eerie mental sensation that signals the opening bond seconds before he appears. But still, his appearance is jarring. And also, discouraging. She had hoped to avoid this. But her efforts were unsuccessful, she sees. And honestly, she’s not surprised.

“Hello Rey.” Ben looks very pleased as he turns around to greet her. His expression is smug as he announces, “I’m back.”

All around Rey, the discussion continues. No one knows there is an interloper present. Apparently, not even Finn who is Force sensitive. Rey doesn’t know if she is relieved or not about that. Luke saw Ben through the bond on Ahch-To, but then again Luke had a longstanding relationship with his wayward nephew. Finn does not. Finn also has no training.

Panicking a little at the extremely awkward situation, Rey looks down at her hands resting on the table. She fiddles with her datapad. She smooths her hair knots. Anything to distract herself from Ben peering at her from lightyears away while she sits in a Republic military command meeting. 

He’s enjoying her discomfort. “Miss me? I miss you.”

Still flustered and trying hard not to show it, Rey pointedly ignores him.

“It looks like we picked up right where we left off. I can see and hear your surroundings. Can you see mine? I know you can see me.”

Yes, she can see his surroundings. He’s standing at the helm of a capital ship. Probably a star destroyer by the looks of those distinctive triangular shaped bridge windows behind him. There is a befuddled First Order officer standing off to the side. He’s clearly wondering why Kylo Ren is talking to the air but he’s far too intimidated to ask.

Ben doesn’t care. He gestures around him like a good host. “This is my new ship you were on last week. It’s called the _Resurgence_. I didn’t name it, but I like it. It is very fitting, don’t you think?”

She ignores him some more.

“Is that the traitor General Finn? FN-2187 has a lot to answer for. I should have killed that guy when I had the chance. I thought I had, actually.”

Rey attempts to focus on the meeting discussion. She nods along as someone discusses the best strategies for emerging from hyperspace into orbit of an enemy system.

But gleeful Ben isn't going anywhere. “Look at you pretending. I know you hate this connection. I see you seethe. I can feel your anger,” he tells her with Dark relish. Cocking his head, he muses, “I wonder what your friends would think if they knew about us? You’d come running home to me fast if in my next holonet video I told them that we—“

“Don't you dare!” Rey snaps.

The words are spoken aloud. All eight people around the table turn to her at the awkwardly timed interruption.

“Rey? Did you have something to add?” Finn squints at her apparent non-sequitur. 

Inwardly cringing, she mumbles, “No. That’s okay.”

“No, please,” the woman she has interrupted invites. “Go ahead.”

“Go ahead, Rey,” Finn seconds the suggestion.

“Yes, go ahead,” Ben smirks in the bond.

Rey looks around, wondering how to salvage this situation. All eyes are on her. The pressure is on to explain her outburst. So, she tepidly raises the issue that has been troubling her all along. “I just don’t think we should be doing this . . . ” she grumbles. “The First Order is what keeps some semblance of civil order on a planet like Tatooine. You destroy the garrison there and it’s like inviting Hutt control again.”

The meeting participants all exchange glances. But Finn is the one to answer. “No one is condoning spice cartels. But we’re fighting one enemy at a time.”

Yes, she understands. But it seems almost counterproductive if the ultimate goal is to help the Rim systems. Looking around at the roomful of Republic military men and women, she voices her concerns. “I lived on a frontier world. I know what it’s like not to have any legitimate authority. Finn, if the Order pulls out of places like Tatooine, there will be no police, no courts, and no schools.”

“Those aren’t police, they are thugs. And those aren’t courts dispensing justice. They don’t respect civil liberties. They impose crackdowns and condone extremism,” Finn answers.

“And the schools?” she challenges.

“They’re propaganda factories where young children are indoctrinated full of hate to become soldiers for the First Order.”

“At least they get some schooling and food,” Rey mutters in response. She worries aloud, “Is the Republic going to step in to fill the void for what we destroy?”

Finn nods. “Yes, of course. In time.”

“And who’s feeding those kids who won’t get meals at school in the meantime? Who’s looking after the ones who don’t have parents to go home to?” 

The point clearly registers with Finn, who was raised in one of those schools. But it’s not his top

priority. He tells her, “We can’t solve all the galaxy’s problems at once.”

She frowns at that punt. “How many worlds are we doing this on?”

“Sixteen over the course of two weeks. Maybe more,” the woman she interrupted answers. “Tatooine is just the test run mission to refine the template for the other worlds.”

Rey frowns harder now. “If we replicate this strategy across the Rim, it could be worse than the famine on Ibaar.”

Finn disagrees. His words are firm. “If we replicate this strategy across the Rim, we beat the First Order. That is our mission, Rey. To win. We’re not peacekeepers yet.”

“But—“

“The social costs are high either way, whether we act or don’t act. It’s best for all if we win the war and move forward. That’s when the civilian social services and nation building can begin.” Finn leans forward in his seat as he solemnly contends, “These people deserve freedom.”

Rey can’t argue with that point.

But unseen listening Kylo Ren does. “These people deserve order,” he objects. “What good is freedom if you’re starving, unemployed, and illiterate?”

Rey says nothing. She just blinks fast as she uncomfortably recalls her own bleak existence on Jakku. 

Ben knows what she’s thinking. He purrs, “You should be one of us. As a scavenger from Jakku, you’re an odd fit for the Republic. These people don’t know the truth of the Rim like you do. Even General Finn never starved like you did. He had the First Order to take care of him.”

Oblivious to Ben’s comment, Finn now asserts, “First things first. We have to liberate these people before we can take responsibility for them.”

Rey backs down, mostly to get the spotlight off herself. This wasn’t a conversation she ever intended to have. “I understand.”

Listening Ben smirks, “Way to read the room, Rey.” She glares back, thoroughly annoyed at her self-appointed troll.

Across the table from her, Finn nods. “Let’s move on. How much air support do we need? This mission has only a cruiser planned for orbit . . . ”

She says nothing for the remainder of the discussion. Neither does Ben. He just hangs around listening to all the details of the upcoming attack. When the meeting concludes shortly thereafter, he finally speaks.

“Rey, look at me. Don’t go on that Tatooine mission. I’m going to blow up that cruiser and anything else they send.”

She doesn’t respond. She can’t. She just exits as fast as she can. Thankfully, the bond closes as she stalks away and Ben is gone for now.

“Rey! Hey, Rey!” Finn catches up to her in the hallway. “What was that in there?” he demands. And here comes the reproach for her dissenting opinions she just voiced. 

Rey plays dumb. “You asked what I thought.”

“Opinions like that are best expressed in private.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry. But this is my job as a Jedi. I’m supposed to be independent.” She’s not a rubberstamp to give the imprimatur of a Force blessing to the Republic military. 

“Save that for the Senate once we’ve won the war and held elections,” Finn huffs.

“The war is won,” she argues back. “It’s why these tactics seem unnecessary and excessive.”

The Republic’s lead General sees things differently. “Kylo Ren is on the loose. This war isn’t over until he’s dead. We can’t relax our efforts until he is gone.” 

That mindset is probably prudent, Rey knows. Ben should not be underestimated. But the Republic’s approach just puts more pressure on her for a task she doesn’t want to do. And now, the argument has been framed so that it’s her fault that people have to suffer. Because her failure to kill Kylo Ren is the reason for the system-by-system Rim crackdown. And since she’s not going to kill Ben, the crackdowns will likely continue.

“I don’t like this either, but we need to do whatever it takes.”

Finn’s words are firm and they alarm her. She fumes, “Don’t say that. ‘Whatever it takes’ sounds like how the First Order rationalized the Starkiller Base.”

Her friend squints at her and takes offense. “What we’re doing on Tattooine does not compare to Hosnia,” he huffs. “And no one here is gleeful about the death and suffering we cause.”

“I know. That came out wrong,” Rey apologizes.

Finn eyes her a bit resentfully and then changes the topic. “Are you leaving with me tomorrow morning?” They are both scheduled to head back to Coruscant to meet the new Chancellor, an alien woman New Republic Senator survivor from the Mid Rim, and to attend her swearing-in ceremony.

“Yes, what time is the shuttle leaving?”

“Early. Oh-five hundred.”

“I’ll be on it,” Rey promises.

“Good. Hey, head’s up that Poe grilled me this morning about when you are going to take another shot at Ren.” 

Yes, she’s fully expecting to get ambushed by Poe the minute she arrives on Coruscant. “Tell him I’ll get Ren when we get better intel,” she grumbles. She sticks to the explanation she gave everyone for her failure the first time: “He wasn’t there, Finn. There was no one to fight. Either it was faulty information or it was a deliberate misdirect.”

Finn accepts the lie without question. “The Intel guys are working on it. It’s just a lot harder to monitor what’s going on now that the First Order’s usual command structure is gone. The weaker and smaller they get, the harder they are to spy on.”

“Tell that to Poe,” she sighs. “He wants Ren gone yesterday.”

“We all do. Look, when Ren is gone, it will make things like this Tatooine mission arguably unnecessary. But until then, we need to wipe out all First Order presence in the Rim.”

Feeling pressured and hopelessly lost in deceit, Rey complains, “It’s harsh.”

“So is the First Order,” Finn points out.

“It’s harsh.” She digs in and now their previous argument revives. “You know those locations aren’t strictly military. The guys you are targeting are mostly civilians with First Order political allegiance.”

Finn is getting frustrated with her attitude. “I don’t like this any more than you do. I used to be one of the kids in those schools, remember? But there are no easy answers and no decisions without consequences. Poe and I have made the choice to prioritize victory for the best interests of the entire galaxy.”

“I’ll shut up,” Rey backs down mostly to end the conversation. She’s never going to convince Finn on this point.

He sighs, clearly troubled by her dissent. “I’m not trying to silence you. Rey, you’re not wrong to object. Just don’t do it in an open meeting.”

“I understand. It won’t happen again.” And now, she has to ask, “Are you going on that Tatooine mission?” The one that will be a death trap because Kylo Ren knows all the details in advance.

“No. Someone else will handle it. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to participate since I know how you feel about it.”

“Thanks,” she gulps back guilt at being excused from what will be a suicide mission. Refusing to meet Finn’s eyes, she explains, “I’d really rather focus on my training for when I get another chance at Ren.”

“Absolutely. Ren is your priority.”

“It’s more than that.” Rey now speaks up with an idea she’s been considering as she struggles with how to define what it means to be a modern-day Jedi. “I don’t think I should participate in regular combat missions that don’t involve a Force user. As a general rule, I don’t think the role of a Jedi should be military leadership. The Force is for knowledge and defense. Not for strategic warfare. Things went astray for the old Jedi during the Clone Wars . . . ”

“We’re at war with a Force user,” Finn reminds her.

“I just think it sets a bad precedent,” Rey counters. 

Finn digs in. “Your priority is Ren, but we may need you on other missions as well. Let’s get this war won, and then you can limit your role.” Finn’s comlink now goes off. He checks it and tells her, “Gotta take this. I’ll see you on the shuttle. We can talk more then.”

Rey gulps and nods. “See you on the shuttle.” Then, she stalks away to hide out from Finn and anyone else who she might compromise if the bond opens.

Hours later, Rey is alone and brooding in her quarters when she again senses a ripple in the Force. She whirls, suddenly feeling watched. “Oh, it’s you.”

The bond has opened again. Ben is sitting in some darkened room somewhere, looking broody like she feels.

“Expecting someone else? Have you been cheating on me in the Force?” He’s teasing her with that deadpan sarcasm that she sometimes wrongly takes as serious. Ben has a very understated wit that is rarely funny and always quick. Usually provoking too.

She’s not in the mood for it right now. “Go away.”

“That’s not how this works. We can’t control the bond. At least, not yet.”

“I hate that you did this!” she lashes out.

“The Force did this.”

“You did this!” she hisses. All the anger she could not vent earlier in the conference room, she now unleashes.

He simply says, “I missed you,” like it’s exculpatory.

Rey explodes. “I trusted you! I trusted you, and you did this!” 

She is still processing all the bad implications of the bond. She had initially focused on the high personal costs to herself, never realizing how circumstances like this morning could cause the bond to be used to Ben’s military advantage. In only a few days’ time, their secret dyad has already compromised the Republic. Rey feels herself sinking deeper and deeper into deception. Now more than ever, she fears where all this is heading. She has rationalized her deceit based on her belief that Ben is right about balancing the Force. That she needs to protect Ben for the long-term good of the galaxy. Underlying it is the hope that he will give up his current politics since he was ready to walk away from the First Order back on Zakuul. But surrender seems increasingly unlikely. Ben’s having too much fun as Kylo Ren, she realizes. And now, he’s made her an unwitting co-conspirator to his cause.

“I keep thinking you are more, I keep fooling myself that you’re better than you are . . . and you’re not. You’ll never be better. I don’t know why I can’t accept that . . . ” Rey laments. Feeling foolish, she sneers, “Your true colors always show!”

“I told you I wanted this bond back on Zakuul.”

“I’ll never trust you again . . . EVER!” she vows.

He frowns and leans forward. “Don't give up on me. Don’t give up on us.”

“There is no us!”

“This bond means there will always be us.”

That’s precisely the problem. She is joined forever to an infuriating man who keeps letting her down. It’s all made so much worse by his undeniable magnetism and strange charisma. She’s as repulsed as she is attracted. And that’s something she cannot ignore now that the bond keeps presenting him to her. Rey thought she was safely lightyears away from his temptation, but not any longer. Even in the dim half-light where he now sits, Ben is strikingly handsome.

“I hate that you did this! I feel like I’m your prisoner—“

“I let you go free.”

“—now, I’ll never be rid of you!”

“In time, you will see the benefits.”

“In other words, get over it?” she jeers. It’s ‘sorry, not sorry’ from Kylo Ren, his matter-of-fact ‘accept it, I did it’ attitude for everything from killing his father to obliterating Hosnia.

Sure enough, he shrugs. “All’s fair in love and war.”

She should have known better than to expect moral behavior from this man. Rey eyes him coolly as she fumes. “And which is this? Love or war?”

“Both.”

It’s the opening she needs to broach the topic that has needled her as much—or more—than the unwanted bond. With a gulp, she ventures headlong into treacherous territory as she demands, “Were you serious? I mean, about love? When you said that you thought that you were . . . that you might . . . ”

“Say it. Say it, Rey,” he goads.

Alright. She does. “When you said . . . that you might love me?” she asks in a voice that starts out strong but then quickly dies away. In the few heartbeats before he responds, she feels incredibly vulnerable. Like she’s begging for affection and she will be crushed if he doesn’t provide it.

“Yes.”

Oh. “Oh.” 

Flustered, embarrassed, pleased, excited, and also still quite angry, she mutters, “I shouldn’t have asked . . . “ She didn’t want to know, but she had to know. 

“It’s not a secret. I want you to know.”

Really? Really?? Where was this talk of love when they were in bed on the _Falcon_? She complains, “Why did you wait to tell me?”

He counters, “I thought I rushed things a bit by telling you on my ship. You didn’t exactly look pleased.” He is defensive at her reaction. “We mostly fight,” he reminds her. “And you usually start it.”

“I know . . . ”

They are a mismatch in so many ways, and yet he thinks he loves her. Still, it could just be a ploy coming from him. He would say anything to sway her. And now, he knows love might do it.

“It’s not a ploy.”

Right. He’s in her head. She has forgotten how transparent the bond is. If they’d had this bond back on Zakuul, they never would have talked past one another. But with Darth Plagueis around, the bond was too risky. Besides, she would never have agreed to it.

Ben says it again aloud, “I think I love you.” And despite his qualifier, he seems sure.

No one has ever told her that before. Is she supposed to say that she loves him back? Because right now, she is far too angry with Ben for love. She feels utterly betrayed about the bond. His declaration of love doesn’t make things right. If anything, it makes things worse. 

Rey looks down in flustered confusion as she tries to sort through her feelings. It’s a Jedi technique from Luke’s books to search your feelings to identify and understand them. That way, you can put them in proper perspective. Which in the old Jedi Order meant mainly to suppress them. So how does she feel? She’s filled with true sadness at what might have been between her and Ben. For had she known love was part of his offer, her decision might have been different. She blinks back a flood of sudden tears. Has she been a fool? Maybe.

He’s looking at her expectantly. She needs to say something . . . anything . . . “You didn’t rush telling me. Actually, it was too late.”

He’s staring at her intently. Looking not at her but at her thoughts. For the bond gives him access to her deepest desires. It’s what makes it shockingly intimate and terribly intrusive.

He blinks and sputters as he understands the implications of the blunder, “You would have—“

“Yeah, maybe.”

“You mean, we might have—“

“Yes! Yes! I might have!” she wails.

“Oh.” He looks away and swears under his breath. 

She looks away as well, grumbling, “It’s too late now.”

“Yes, it is,” he snaps, demanding, “Why didn’t you say something?”

Oh, so this is her fault? Rey scowls. “It’s not something you’re supposed to beg for. You were supposed to say it without being prompted—“

It’s now a full-fledged argument. Ben jumps to his feet as he responds hotly, “I told you I wanted to get married!”

“You didn’t say anything about love! It was power and the Force. Talk of destiny and passing on what we have learned—“

“Yes, to our kids! I was offering you a family.” He shoots her a look full of scathing resentment. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“I do! It’s just that in your family, power tears things apart. Fights become civil wars! Children grow up to murder their parents! When they aren’t hidden away in secret to be raised, that is. So forgive me if I am skeptical of talk of dynasty and legacy coming from you!” 

Ben twists his jaw a bit before he begrudgingly admits, “You’re right. But it would be different for us.”

“Not without love.” Love was the missing inducement that might have made his offer to run away together acceptable . . . or at least worth a trial period. 

Ben looks uncomfortable as he makes more excuses. “Everyone who has ever loved me has turned on me. My father left, my mother sent me away, my uncle tried to murder me . . . ”

“I know,” she commiserates with his pain. She knows all the sad secrets of the Skywalker-Solo family. And she personally knew most of the family members. 

“Power, I understand,” he continues to vent. “People betray you for power. I did it myself to Snoke. But love . . . love I don’t really understand . . . ”

“It scares me,” she volunteers.

He agrees and adds, “But you crave it all the same.” And wait, are they talking about her or him?

At their shared dismay over their miscommunication, Rey feels forlorn. “It’s too late for this conversation.” They missed their chance, she is realizing.

He agrees. “It’s too late to hide from the Republic in exile together. They know I’m alive. They’ll never rest until I’m dead.”

“Or until you surrender,” she suggests halfheartedly, knowing his answer.

He doesn’t disappoint. “I’m not the surrender type.”

“None of the Skywalkers are,” she sighs. “You are your mother’s son, that’s for sure. She never gave up either.”

Rey’s expecting Ben to object to the comparison, but he doesn’t. “We were all a lot alike,” he observes softly. “Maybe that was our problem.”

“If so, it was one among many,” she jeers. It’s a cheap shot but she’s still so angry.

Ben’s face has that hangdog look she saw when the bond opened during the Battle of Crait. It’s Ben at his most uncomfortable and uncertain. “So . . . I blew it?”

Did he blow it? Would she have run away with him if he declared himself? Rey is honestly not sure. “I don't know if that’s fair to say you blew it . . . There’s a lot about the Republic and the Jedi that is worth saving. I’m not sure I would have been ready to give that up even for . . . ”

“For love?” he states it plainly. 

She gulps and nods, observing tartly, “You went back to the First Order pretty fast, I notice.”

He nods slowly and gives her the first real explanation for his actions. “It felt like unfinished business. I didn’t want all the time I spent here duped by Snoke to be meaningless. There is more at stake in this war than myself,” he adds, looking almost sheepish at the words. He shouldn’t be. It’s this side to Ben Solo—the committed, earnest side—that is seldom revealed but very endearing. Rey wishes she saw more of it. 

He must sense an opening because he offers his hand across the bond. “Rey, it’s too late to run away, but it’s not too late for love. Come to me. Be with me. Love me and I will love you.”

Her heart skips a beat. She has a flashback to that vision on Endor of herself Dark, beautiful, and terrifying. Will that be the consequence of accepting? Is this the first step towards her and Ben Solo sitting on the Dark throne together? 

“Take it! Together, we will face all our fears together,” he exhorts, looking princely and compelling with his arm outstretched.

Rey’s eyes dart to his gloved hand. She’s received this offer twice before. Dare she take it this time? Part of her is ready to be seduced. Rey is actually ashamed about that. Flushing, she mumbles, “I told you I wanted to take Ben’s hand—“

“There is no Ben Solo. Not like you think there is. There is only me.”

“That’s the problem,” she moans. “I can’t join you now that you’re Supreme Leader Ren again! How many times must I tell you—I’ll never join you on the Dark Side!” Fighting back tears, she stammers,

“We missed our chance.”

He insists. “We will make it work. We will find a way. I’m not on the Dark Side completely any more than you live wholly in the Light. Come to me. Be with me. Together we will bring a new order to the Force and to the galaxy.”

She’s heard those words before. Never have they been so tempting. 

She stares.

“Don’t be afraid,” he coaxes. He takes off his glove and extends his bare hand. 

She blinks and pulls back. “I c-can’t . . . ”

“Don't be afraid. Take my hand in the bond. Let the Force show us the future again.”

“N-No. No.” She shakes her head. She fears the Force has already revealed its plans with that Dark vision on Endor. More than anything, she wants to avoid becoming that woman.

“That was probably Sidious. Rey, he was in my mind all the time planting ideas. I may never know how much of what I saw was the Force and how much was him.”

Maybe so. But still, she balks. “It’s too late.” Her brimming eyes now overflow. “Ben, I don’t trust you . . . not after you rekindled this bond. I don’t trust you and that means I will never love you back.”

He digests her words slowly. She sees it all through the bond as he arrives at his response. He tells himself that something is better than nothing. That trust can be built over time. That if he can just get her to come, the Force can work its magic from there. “I can accept that,” he offers. Then, again he extends his hand.

Rey bites her lip. “Maybe you can . . . but I won’t.” She’s not throwing it all away to join a man she doesn’t trust, no matter how much he might promise to love and to cherish her.

Even if she didn’t have the bond to peek into his reaction, his face would betray it. For a second, Ben looks crushed. Then, angry.

He whirls away. His sword—her sword—leaps into his hand to ignite. He begins hacking away at a blank wall behind him, each slash leaving glowing molten stripes that show red amid the dimness. The bond fades out abruptly as Ben rages at her latest rejection. 

Rey is left feeling more dismay and confusion. But she does not regret her decision.

She boards the shuttle with Finn early the next morning. The General brings along a few staff members and makes it a working flight. It means she and Finn only exchange the briefest of yawning, bleary-eyed greetings before he gets to work. Relieved Rey finds a bunk and goes to sleep, mostly to avoid any meaningful conversation about her role as a Jedi. She’s beginning to fully appreciate now how much she has given up to serve the Republic. She’s not in the mood to be guilt tripped by Finn about how she should be doing more.

Rey arrives on Coruscant to a warm hug and a quick blackslap from busy Poe, who promptly hands her off to one of his many handlers. Rey has a twenty-minute perfunctory meet-and-greet with the new temporary Chancellor. After that, she has an open invitation to sit in on several ongoing briefings. She should probably make the rounds to renew her old acquaintances, networking here at the epicenter of galactic politics. But today especially, Rey’s heart isn’t in it. She will be there for the inauguration like everyone expects, but first she needs some time to think. She also has a task to complete.

After wandering the crowded Coruscant cityscape for hours like she once aimlessly wandered the Jakku desert, Rey finds the treelined campus of the centuries old Coruscant University. There at the College of Fine Arts, she presents herself at the office of Professor Astral Sidhu, the erstwhile Lady Darth Vader.

Fortunately, the Professor is in attendance for office hours. “Rey,” she is recognized immediately. Perhaps sensing her hesitation, the aristocratic old lady quickly smooths over the initial awkwardness. “Come in, come in,” she waves Rey forward. “This is a happy surprise. Close the door and let’s have a chat, shall we?”

Rey steps in and waves the door closed behind her with the Force. It’s an unconscious habit that does not go unnoticed by her hostess.

Old Lady Vader raises an eyebrow. “It’s been a long, long time since I saw anyone do that,” she chuckles. Then, she subjects Rey to a thorough visual inspection. 

Rey has to fight the urge to squirm at her sartorial shortcomings. But well, that’s why she’s here. By contrast, seated Lady Vader is dressed for work like the Empress she might have been. Her presentation is neither flashy nor ornate, but it is extremely expensive looking. If there is such a thing as dowager chic, Professor Sidhu exemplifies it.

But apparently, today the old lady is not concerned with clothes. “That’s not my husband’s sword,” she observes, her eyes lingering at the weapon hanging at Rey’s waist.

“Ben has it.”

“I saw. Is that new one a present from Snoke?”

“Yes.” Direct as always, Rey now blurts out, “I need your help.”

“Do sit down. Tell me more.”

Rey takes a seat and starts in on her explanation. “This week, we’re announcing the new Chancellor. She’s giving a big speech.”

The professor nods along. “The inaugural address?”

“Yes. Poe—Poe Dameron--wants a big photo op for the cameras. I’m supposed to be there. I’m getting introduced.”

“Introduced as?”

“The Jedi advisor to the Senate.”

Lady Vader looks anything but pleased at that answer. “I see.”

Rey gets right to the point. “I can’t look like this,” she gestures to her scruffy Resistance jacket, sand scoured boots, and secondhand pants. “I need to look fancy and important. Like I know what I’m doing.” Like she’s not a kid who’s way out of her depth tasked with helming the official state religion that she knows very little about.

The Professor is not going to volunteer. Apparently, she’s going to make her ask. So, Rey gamely continues, “You bought me that pink dress. Could you maybe help me find something for the speech? I have credits.” She produces the credit card Vanee gave her from a pocket as proof. “I just don’t know where to start,” she confesses weakly.

Lady Vader looks her over in silence long enough for Rey to worry. But she agrees. “I would be happy to help you.”

“You would?” Rey can’t hide her surprise nor relief. “I mean, thank you. I know you don’t like the Jedi and all . . . ” she alludes to the woman’s firm Sith allegiance.

Old Lady Vader gives a little shrug. “Oh, I suppose somewhere in the Force my husband will be scowling down at us. But I think it is perfectly permissible for me to help Snoke’s daughter choose an appropriate outfit for a big occasion. I’m helping a friend, not making a political statement. And we are family,” she adds, although the relation is rather tenuous. “What did you have in mind?”

“Not pink.”

The Professor stifles a smile. “Are you enjoying wearing the dress?” she asks with a twinkle to her eye. “Have you ever even worn that dress?” she inquires archly.

The pink dress is presumably still in the _Falcon_. “It’s . . . ah . . . at Ben’s place . . . ah currently . . . ”

The Professor stifles another smile. “I remember the days of sneaking across the galaxy to see one another.”

“Oh, we’re not together!” Rey quickly yelps. “He’s the Supreme Leader again and I’m a Jedi. That would be treason.”

“I remember treason well,” the Professor answers blithely. “How is my grandson these days?”

Rey gives up her pretense. “He’s all healed.”

“Good.”

“He’s happy,” Rey adds glumly. Well, Ben was happy until she turned him down again. Then, he was spectacularly not happy. “It’s weird. He’s not the happy type. The First Order is losing and he’s a fugitive but he’s pretty happy all in all.”

The old lady nods. “Some men need a challenge. Tell him I said hello.”

“I will. I mean . . . if I see him . . . which would be highly unlikely since it might be considered—“

“Treason?”

Rey flushes. “Yes.”

Lady Vader leans forward in her chair to confide, “Treasonous kisses are the best kisses, are they not?” Rey blinks and she chides, “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I wasn’t always this old. Hold on, dear. I’ll just get my purse. Let’s go shopping.” The Professor tosses aside the datapad in her lap. “This article can wait.”

Rey soon finds herself standing in a fancy shop in Coruscant’s famed Upper Level shopping district as Lady Vader and a rather terrifying saleslady discuss how to outfit her for the ceremony.

“Normally, a formal day gown would be in order.”

Rey puts a stop to that. “Pants. I want to wear pants.” No more dresses.

“Very well, then. A pantsuit,” the saleslady aims to please. 

“Perhaps a pantsuit and some heeled boots?” the Professor suggests. “Something contemporary but elegant with clean lines that photograph well.”

“Yes to boots, no to heels,” Rey interjects.

Lady Vader does not back down as quickly as the saleslady does. “We will compromise on a stack heel,” she decrees. “Easy to walk in, but it will give your look a lift. Heels give your back an arch. It does wonders for the derrière, especially in profile.”

“The what?”

“Your backside, my dear,” Lady Vader answers plainly.

Rey self-consciously puts a hand on the body part in question. “That is . . . uh . . . not my primary concern.”

“Nonsense. It is every woman’s concern to look desirable in the event of,” Lady Vader pauses to wink, “treason.”

Luckily, the saleslady has stepped away for that comment. Red faced Rey grumbles, “I’d rather look powerful.”

“Oh, yes. Beauty and power are not mutually exclusive pursuits. We’ll be sure to get a cape.”

“Right. A cape not a poncho,” Rey recalls dryly.

“Exactly. You have come to the right person, Rey,” the Professor assures her as she pokes at a rack of clothes. “I have made a career out of analyzing composition.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It is the arrangement of elements within a work of art. The choice and positioning of the elements affect how the viewer interacts with the art. Composition conveys meaning.”

“Okay.“ Rey isn’t really following.

“We shall compose an outfit that conveys meaning. What do you want people to see?”

“I’d really rather they didn’t look at me.”

“That’s not an option. I’ll start. You wish to look powerful, attractive, and??”

“Good.”

“Light?” Lady Vader shoots her a questioning look.

Rey nods. “I suppose you know about the Force.”

“I was married to the Chosen One,” the Professor reminds her. “Now then, let’s look for a white pant suit. White will flatter your coloring and show up in a crowd. And white says good. White says Light.”

Locating a suitable white pantsuit turns out to be a surprisingly easy task. That just leaves the problem of a cape.

“White?” the saleslady suggests as Rey stands before a full-length mirror.

The Professor nixes that choice. “Too bridal and not enough contrast.”

“Brown?” Rey volunteers.

“I suppose that could work . . . ” The Professor is unenthusiastic about that option as well. “Brown was the old school Jedi uniform. Dull everyman work clothes in brown and beige. Very intentionally ordinary to fool the rest of us about the demigods who walked among us.”

“As opposed to the deceptive Sith who went with straightforward black?” Rey challenges.

Lady Vader ignores that remark. “Brown is never chic. I think blue,” she muses. “The color of serenity and wisdom. It will present you as calm and composed with a tinge of sadness for gravitas.”

Rey frowns. “Not grey?”

“Not grey. Jedi see life in black or white, do they not?” Lady Vader is not above a little decorous trolling, it seems. “Plus, blue is youthful and optimistic.”

Rey has to admit that the pale blue cape the saleslady swings over her shoulders gives the outfit some flair. It matches her sword blade, too. 

Lady Vader has more suggestions now. “No ponytail, Rey. Something dignified for the occasion. Perhaps a low chignon?” That prompts the saleslady to offer to show them the latest grooming droid that has enough robotic arms to do a lady’s entire toilette in ten minutes. One thing leads to another and Rey is now sporting lipstick and the Professor has picked out a pale pink nail polish she thinks is absolutely necessary. 

As the tailor droids appear to hem the pants and shorten the cape, the two older women survey her critically. They pronounce the final result to be modern and camera-ready. They tell her the look is age appropriate and occasion appropriate glamour. Rey hopes the late Leia Organa, a woman of steely grace and beauty, would agree. Because that’s whose example she would most like to emulate. 

In the end, Rey is stretched a little out of her comfort zone, but not too much. And unlike how she felt wearing the pink dress, Rey recognizes her usual self in the mirror even if it’s an ultra-sleek, expensive version. She’s a long way from Jakku. And while that is scary, it is also a good thing. The outfit also achieves her unspoken but highest priority—that she resembles as little as possible the Dark version of herself she saw in the Force on Endor.

“Are you comfortable, my dear?” the Professor asks.

Rey is far from comfortable with any of this. But she does feel good about the outcome of their efforts. “I feel confident,” she answers. 

“Good.” Old Lady Vader pats her arm in a motherly gesture. “The First Order will be watching,” she teases.

Yes, Ben will always be watching now, Rey knows. “Thank you,” she tells her unlikely stylist sincerely. “I really needed this help.”

“Rey, I can’t say that I approve,” the Professor admits quietly, “but you must do what you feel is right.”

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Rey answers, “This is right.” The Jedi weren’t perfect and the Republic wasn’t perfect. But they aspired to be good, and that matters.

“Then may the Force be with you,” Lady Vader blesses her solemnly.

Two days later, Rey stands on a dais beside Finn and Poe as the newest Republic’s newest Chancellor addresses the galaxy. It’s a good speech, full of unifying words and lofty themes. It is perfectly pitched for the audience and for the moment. The trouble is that none of the people who really need to hear it are listening. For Rey knows that lightyears away in the Rim, no one is tuning in. Today’s majestic pageantry and lyric prose are largely wasted, she fears. This is the legacy of decades of division and recurrent civil war. People are convinced of their own positions. They don’t feel the need to listen to the opposition they do not respect.

Still, standing there before the adulation of the local crowd, Rey wants to pinch herself to be sure this moment is real. That she, a self-taught, orphan scavenger from Jakku, would be entrusted to carry on the tradition of the Jedi is nothing short of remarkable. Her story is as improbable as it is amazing. Finally, she knows why. It’s not because her parents were heroes or villains. It’s because she is a Skywalker, born of the Force. 

Ben is right that her life will never be wholly her own to lead. Her purpose is greater than her own happiness. At least, that’s what she told herself the night she and Ben spoke of love before she cried herself to sleep. That night, she was heartsick for the lost opportunity. But in the morning when she boarded the shuttle to Coruscant, she reminded herself that their love is impossible. Too much stands between them. Moreover, Ben Solo is not Prince Charming material. She knows him well enough to know he’s not worth throwing it all away. Especially when so many people are counting on her.

More than anything, Rey doesn’t want to let people down. The stark example of Luke Skywalker’s failure looms large in her mind. She knows what not to do. But she’s still struggling to decide what to do. Rebuilding the Jedi is a daunting task she has not yet figured out how to attempt. But whatever path she takes, it won’t be for herself. The future isn’t about what she wants or what she gains, it’s about what the galaxy gains. And Force willing, in the end they will all gain balance.

As she genuflects and the cheers continue, Rey feels the tickle in the back of her mind that signals the bond. Seconds later, Ben appears. He’s on the bridge of his ship, which somehow appears mere meters away. 

They lock eyes across lightyears. Their minds are intertwined. Ben says nothing, but she knows he is upset at her public appearance in her new role. 

She feels his frustration. She knows his anger. She senses his sadness.

In return, he feels her fears. He knows her misgivings. He senses her resignation.

Why is the Force connecting them at such a time? The farther apart they grow politically, personally and physically, the more determined the Force seems to bridge the gap. It twists the knife in the wound left by their most recent conversation. 

Stalwart Rey reminds herself that there is no commitment to others without personal sacrifice. That sentiment is a longstanding tenet of the Jedi Order. It is the origin of their prohibition on attachment and their stated purpose in the Jedi Code. Standing there gazing at Ben across the bond, Rey realizes that he is her sacrifice. Their life together—whatever happiness it might have brought—is lost forever. And since they are bonded, that feels at least for now like it precludes all other romantic options. Because no one will ever know her like Ben will. No one will ever understand her like Ben will. Only he bears the same burden that she does.

His return to the First Order makes more sense now. For a long time, she failed to appreciate that Ben has plenty of altruism mixed in with his ambition. He is a true believer in the First Order. And so, when she wasn’t ready to abandon the Jedi and the Republic, he reverted to his own allegiance to the First Order and the Sith. It culminates in this moment when while she stands with the Republic Chancellor on Coruscant and he stands on the helm of a warship as a fugitive warlord in the Rim. Weirdly, their opposition is a rough form of balance. It’s just not the balance they had hoped to achieve.

Across the bond, Ben looks as intense as ever as he hisses his strong rebuke, “We are stronger together. This is not over! Don’t take this path!”

Rey refuses to spare him another look. Instead, she joins hands with others on the dais as they raise arms in a display of unity for the camera. The crowd cheers and Rey smiles, proud to be part of this hopeful new beginning.


	17. chapter 17

His girl is pissed. He gets the epic silent treatment in response. 

  
  
It’s very Rey, actually. She’s so emotionally stunted. She doesn’t know how to handle her feelings and she’s terrible at relationships. But he won’t hold that against her. She grew up feral in the desert, after all. Plus, she is very young. When Rey is confused, she retreats. He saw it on Zakuul when she hid in the _Falcon_. He sees it now as she takes refuge is seething, frosty silence. Each time the bond opens, she resolutely ignores him. But their connection betrays just how distressed and confused she is beneath the veneer of indifference.

  
  
The Force gets what the Force wants, and so the bond keeps opening. Kylo is suddenly his own best spy as he listens in on Republic briefings and strategy discussions. He eavesdrops on all sorts of valuable information as Rey fumes in silence. That Tatooine mission he sabotages turns out to be just the beginning. He learns hard facts about troop movements and fleet positioning, which he puts to good use in his new ‘hide and seek’ battle posture. For like the Rebellion he emulates, Kylo keeps his military assets constantly on the move and his few base locations secret. His commanders are a bit flummoxed at their underdog posture, but it works. He’s forcing the enemy to find him, which spreads their resources thin. The Republic wastes supplies and hyperfuel chasing phantom versions of his flagship all over the galaxy. And since the First Order has hyperspace tracking technology but the Republic still does not, he is safe so long as he is one jump to lightspeed away from the enemy.

  
  
Through the bond, he also learns standard Republic protocols for mundane tasks like hyperspace jumps, supply convoys, and fleet maneuvers. It gives him more advantage. For whenever you can get into your enemy’s default mindset, you can anticipate their actions. It helps the First Order to hone their ambush skills. The surprise attack becomes his hallmark offensive move. His ships arrive and launch fighters in under a minute, swarming the enemy before they can react. Just as the Republic begins to muster its defenses, the First Order jumps away to safety. It’s guerrilla warfare in space. A classic hit-and-run with the goal of crippling enemy ships rather than fully destroying them. 

  
  
Occasionally, Kylo indulges in total annihilation. But most days, he focuses on inflicting just enough damage to take the enemy assets out of the field of combat. Frankly, he doesn’t have sufficient ordinance stockpiles for gratuitous destruction. These days, everything from torpedoes to blaster plasma cartridges are in short supply. He has to maximize what he has and develop tactics to make do with less. His officers, who are used to Snoke’s blank check approach to provisioning and tendency towards overkill, are forced to undergo an attitude adjustment. But they are coming around to his point of view. As the modest, but repeated victories add up, his commanders begin to understand the wisdom of becoming a nimble, ever-mobile adversary. Kylo quotes them Mon Mothma’s old adage for the Alliance: ‘we win by existing.’ The goal for now is to live to fight another day. So long as the Republic cannot claim to control the galaxy unopposed, the First Order is winning.

  
  
His officers are amazed by their string of successes and his unexplained knowledge. Where did he get the intel to base the missions on? Kylo tells them the Force. It’s technically true plus it bolsters his Dark Lord cred by upping his air of mystery. It’s way too soon to conclude that the tide of the war has turned—basically all he’s accomplished in these first few weeks is to stop the downward spiral into defeat. But there’s no denying that his leadership has made a remarkable difference. It earns him and his ideas respect. But more importantly, it reveals that the Force is with him. Every time the Force opens the bond to give him strategic information, it’s evidence that he is in favor with his deity. God is on his side in this conflict, at least currently.

  
  
Rey naturally begins to take every opportunity to excuse herself from discussions and to duck early out of meetings. She’s attempting to cut short his surveillance through the bond. Sometimes it works, but mostly it doesn’t. And it does not go unnoticed.

  
  
“Rey!”

The bond is open one afternoon when his despairing girl literally flees a planning meeting she’s been auditing. Rey is tense as she turns to regard her friend, the odious traitor FN-2187. “Yes?”

“What’s the rush?”

“I have some training to do.”

The traitor frowns and crosses his arms. “You must be training hard. We missed you at this morning’s status briefing . . . and yesterday's as well.”

Rey owns up to her absences. “I don’t have anything to add to those briefings.”

“You’re there to hear them, not to give them,” the General responds. He's less upset than he is concerned, Kylo sees. “Rey, is something wrong?”

Her eyes shift to him briefly through the bond. Then, back to Finn the traitor who is oblivious to his presence in the Force. “Wrong? No. Why do you ask?”

“So coy, so coy,” Kylo coos for her ears alone.

Rey ignores him like usual. But he can tell he just scored a hit.

The traitor persists. “You seem distracted and preoccupied during meetings a lot.”

“You know I don’t agree with our strategy decisions.” Rey now holds up a hand to forestall the General's anticipated interruption. “Look, I will respect our goals and we don’t need to rehash my objections again. I’m trying to be a team player, Finn.”

“I understand.”

“You have your work and I have mine. They overlap somewhat, but not completely,” Rey continues.

“Yes, for killing Ren."

She nods. “He is my priority. I really don’t think I should be in all these other meetings. It’s a waste of my time.”

The traitor’s not buying her excuses. “I know what you’re doing. You’re pulling back from the military like you said you wanted—”

“Yes. A Jedi’s role is not as a soldier.”

“During wartime, it is,” General Finn counters. “Rey, you can be a Force scholar or priestess or whatever during peacetime, but while we’re at war with Darth Vader’s grandson, we need our Jedi fully integrated into our senior command. Look, no one is going to call on you to settle any trade disputes or to enforce treaties for taxation to outlying systems. That’s not Jedi stuff. But killing Sith lords? That’s a job for a Jedi,” FN-2187 decrees.

“I disagree," Rey digs in, adding, "And Kylo Ren is not a Sith Lord.”

“Oh, come on! Snoke was Palpatine—Darth Sidious—all along, and Ren was his Apprentice. That makes Ren a Sith Lord.”

His girl sticks to her view. “Kylo Ren is not a Sith Lord. He’s Dark, but he’s not a Sith.”

“Is there a distinction? Because if it walks like an ewok and talks like an ewok, then it’s an ewok.”

Listening Kylo groans. “I am not an ewok.” That bit about being called Vader’s grandson was good though. He doesn’t mind being known by that moniker. 

“Kylo Ren is not a Sith. The Sith crave power,” Rey contends.

“Precisely--Ren wants his short-lived empire back.”

“It’s more than that. He’s a true believer in the First Order’s mission. It’s why he came back to join a lost cause.” 

Yep, his girl finally gets it. Kylo watches as the traitor sighs. “It’s not as lost as it once was. They’ve de facto ousted us from another system as of last night.”

“Onderon fell?”

“Yes, and you would have known that had you come to this morning’s briefing,” FN-2187 points out a bit peevishly.

Rey’s eyes widen as she processes the news. “Onderon is important. That’s Inner Rim.”

“Yes, and it’s at the junction of three major hyperspace lanes.” The traitor is frustrated as he looks to Rey. “You know, the more strength and territory the First Order recovers, the more important it is to kill Ren. If this keeps going, it could get out of hand.”

“He won’t die easily.”

“Damn, right I won’t,” Kylo chimes in for only Rey to hear. “I have died before, you know.”

Her mind is an open sieve to him. He reads her thoughts: _Stop bragging. I died too_. _You’re not the only zombie in the galaxy, Ben._

General Finn is, of course, deaf to this exchange. “Ren needs to die before they string together enough victories to gain real momentum. There was more you missed this morning. You know all those random supply heists we’ve been blaming on pirates and spicers?”

“Yes?”

“It’s the First Order.”

Rey raises an eyebrow. “Those were smalltime thefts.”

“Yes, but there have been a lot of them. We finally got a positive ID on one of their dead to prove it. He’s a First Order corporal in plain clothes.”

Rey considers. “Are you sure he’s not a defector?”

“I’m sure. Poe says it’s an old Rebellion tactic used back in the day to steal munitions from the Empire and make it look like regular theft.”

Rey nods along as she reasons aloud, “Kylo Ren probably knows plenty about the Rebellion . . . ”

“You think? I never heard the end of that shit from my family growing up. My mother told bedtime stories about the Death Star," Kylo complains through the bond. “They all ended like this: the moon that wasn’t a moon blew up and they lived happily ever after in freedom . . . NOT.”

FN-2187 now warns, “The first good intel we get on Ren, we’re planning a mission and going in.”

“I’ll handle Ren,” his girl huffs.

“You can have dibs on me any day, Rey,” he snickers through the bond.

She ignores him as usual. She saves her bickering for the traitor general instead.

FN-2187 wants a piece of him apparently. He decides, “You’ll handle Ren with plenty of backup this time.”

“No. That’s not how it’s done. We have to duel,” Rey contends.

“No, we don’t. We have to capture him or kill him, preferably the latter. No one wants a trial to give that guy a platform.”

“I’ll handle Ren,” Rey refuses to back down. “We will duel alone.”

“Negative,” the general shoots her down. “He’s too important of a target not to have serious backup in place. And once you kill him, we have to get you safely away.”

“How is the intel coming anyway?” Rey wants to know. Only he knows through the bond that she’s afraid to know the answer.

“Slowly. But be ready.”

“That’s why I need to be training and not sitting in meetings,” Rey points out, renewing their original argument.

Sensing her stubbornness, the traitor offers a compromise. “Just come to at least half of my meetings?”

“Alright,” she relents.

“Good girl,” Kylo approves from across the galaxy. He wants to keep up his covert surveillance through the bond. 

  
He takes heart from conversations like this. Rey’s many little betrayals to her friends and her cause are adding up. It tells him that she wants to protect him. It reinforces that she cares. And yes, maybe there’s some self-preservation mixed in there as well. But he chooses to believe that there’s still hope for them as a couple so long as she is invested in him. He will let Rey stew and work through things on her own time and in her own way. He trusts in the Force that things will work out in the end. They are destiny, after all.

  
  
Besides, his fledgling comeback needs his constant attention. He can’t be distracted with girl trouble. There is no end to the list of tasks for him to do. But all manpower concerns aside, his biggest need is money. It’s not like the First Order can go to the big banks on Coruscant or on Muunilinst for a line of credit. He can’t write a prospectus and sell shares in his government to the public. Moreover, his scratch-and-dent Empire doesn’t lend itself nicely to venture capital type investment. That just leaves private investors and organized crime to fund him. Well, he’ll be damned if he gives a security interest in his three remaining star destroyers to some criminal Hutt in exchange for usurious loan terms. He’s likely to end up encased in carbonite decorating the wall of some seedy palace if he goes that route.

  
  
So Kylo goes to a rich guy he knows who once paid over a hundred million credits for a small, lackluster orange painting. It’s a two-day journey from the Outer Rim back to Zakuul that is time he would rather not spend, but he has no better options. He tells himself that Old Darth Plagueis is no stranger to meddling in civil wars since he claims to have bankrolled the Rebellion. Kylo arms himself with a sales pitch to help him oppose the Republic in order to further the cause of balance. But if all else fails, he’s prepared to beg and stroke his host’s ego. 

  
  
Fortunately, the creepy, towering Muun with the ruined face greets him like a returning hero.

  
  
“All hail, Darth Ren.” This time, there is no trace of mockery. “Come in, my boy, come in. Tell me news of the battlefront.” Old Plagueis is practically beaming at this surprise visit. “When you stormed out of here, I knew it would make a difference. I won’t say you’re winning, but you’re no longer losing.”

  
  
Kylo takes that as a vote of confidence and reports on the state of the First Order, putting a positive spin whenever possible. Plagueis is astute about military matters and asks plenty of questions. As the architect of the Clone Wars, the exiled Sith is well versed in the Rim’s political grievances that are a legacy of a century of galactic colonialism. But none of those concerns will sway this wily mastermind, Kylo judges. Plagueis could care less about the plight of exploited indigenous aliens and their human settler brethren. He cares about power. He cares about the Force. 

So, Kylo frames the First Order’s comeback in terms of balance. Without him and his cause, there can be no rough equivalence between Light and Dark. The Jedi and the Republic will dominate. The cycle of civil war will begin again, the schism between the two sides of the Force will persist, and nothing will have been achieved despite everyone’s efforts. Kylo lays on the hard sell, suspecting that since Plagueis judged him important enough to the future to resurrect him, it’s not a big leap for him to fund him as well. 

  
  
The Muun nods slowly as he completes his sales pitch. “Thus far, the Force has been with you,” the old Sith Master judges. “But what is the goal? To battle to a draw?”

  
  
Kylo admits what he cannot admit publicly or even privately behind closed doors. “I’d be fine to split the galaxy with the Republic.”

  
  
Plagueis fixes him with a measuring look and calls into question his Dark manhood. “That’s heresy for a true Sith.”

  
  
“Good thing neither of us is one,” Kylo replies. He’s conflicted and always has been. Time to embrace his nature rather than hide from it. “Darkness is my means, not my cause.” This is the credo he lives by now.

  
  
Plagueis approves. “It was a relief for me to see on the holonet that your eyes are no longer yellow. Take care, Lord Ren, lest too much Darkness consume you. Yellow eyes are a warning sign, not a mark of achievement.”

  
  
Kylo dutifully nods assent to this chiding. He will agree to whatever the Muun says to get his money.

  
  
Fortunately, Lord Plagueis looks satisfied. He gets down to business. “Now then, I know you didn’t come here to pay a social call. What do you need, my Lord?”

  
  
“Credits.”

  
  
“How many?”

  
  
“All you can spare.”

  
  
“What is my return on investment?”

  
  
“The goodwill of the Force.”

  
  
Plagueis harrumphs. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  
  
Kylo’s eyes narrow. Is Plagueis looking for power? He balks. “I’m not calling you Master.”

  
  
“Settle down, my boy. I’m not looking to be Emperor of the Rim. You can be king of the deplorables. I require two things.”

  
  
“Name your terms.”

  
  
“A reprieve from exile. I wish to move freely within your territorial borders.”

  
  
“Done. What else?”

  
  
“If you catch my old Apprentice, I want you to hand him over to me. Darth Sidious is mine to punish.”

  
  
This one Kylo mulls over. “You will make him pay?”

  
  
“I will make what Emperor Vitiate did to Revan look like child’s play.” Plagueis’ eyes now flash feral golden yellow despite his earlier admonition. It gives Kylo a glimpse of the monster who still lurks within which is the reason this hoary iconoclast cannot balance the Force himself. 

  
  
He’s just given one of the most powerful Sith ever a free pass to wander his Empire. Could he also give him jailor status to Darth Sidious? Has he just agreed to win back at least half the galaxy so that in time Plagueis can resurrect his old pal Sidious, make peace with his upstart Apprentice, and then steal the First Order out from under him? Because that’s just the sort of powerplay this guy would do. Darth Plagueis would then finally achieve what he began plotting a hundred years ago to do. Ugh. This is a bad deal that keeps getting worse, but who is he kidding? He desperately needs the money. There is basically nothing Plagueis could ask for that he wouldn’t agree to. 

  
  
So, feeling ruefully a bit like Han Solo making a shady deal that he knows might blow up in his face, Kylo commits, “We are agreed.”

  
  
“We are agreed,” Plagueis confirms in his solemn gravelly baritone. Then he summons his henchman Milo to handle the account transfers. Fortunately, the Muun delivers in a big way. The sum he hands over is eye-popping. 

  
  
“It’s been a while since I funded a war,” the old Sith muses once the details are completed. “Years ago, I gave Mon Mothma a hefty bank balance and used the leverage to get Maul put in charge of building her an army.”

  
  
“I still can’t believe you kept that quiet.” Two Sith manipulating the Rebels never made it into the  
history books. How Kylo wishes his mother and uncle were alive to know the whole truth of the Rebel Alliance. He himself has a healthy respect for this mastermind Muun who somehow manages to pull the strings behind the scenes for the galaxy’s biggest players. Is there anything Darth Plagueis the Wise can’t or won’t do? Kylo suspects not. It’s why he cannot be trusted.

  
  
Plagueis reminisces, “Maul was the perfect choice. He was marvelously skilled, ruthless as can be, and he had all the requisite shady underworld contacts. For a time, we stored most of the rebel supplies at his spice warehouses.” Plagueis flashes a devious smile at the memory. “Maul’s competitors worried he was preparing to start a gang war, but the Empire was none the wiser. Crimson Dawn was good cover. The only time Maul ever got caught was when Vader snagged him smuggling a Jedi.”

  
  
“Wait—Maul helped Jedi??” Kylo blinks at this unexpected reveal.

  
“Oh, yes. He hunted them for years during the Purge. Maul wanted information from Jedi survivors to locate Kenobi. Vader knew it, of course. His Inquisitors would follow Maul’s agents hoping to get lucky.”

  
Kylo frowns. “Why would Maul help Jedi?”

  
“Mostly to prove his Rebel bona fides. Vader busted him transporting a Jedi to Bail Organa on Alderaan,” Plagueis recalls aloud.

  
  
“And??” Did Grandpa kick Maul’s ass? Kylo is dying to know. And wait—strait-laced Senator Bail Organa knew crime lord Maul? Who knew?

  
  
The old Sith looks bored with the conversation just when it’s getting interesting. Plagueis puts him off. “It’s a good story for another time.”

  
“The Hell, it is. What happened?”

  
  
“There was no momentous matchup. Maul died by Kenobi’s hand, not Vader’s.”

  
  
“Yes, I know. But what happened when the old Apprentice and the new Apprentice met?” Kylo persists.

  
  
“There’s not much to tell. Vader refused to fight him. He disrespected Maul and let him go.”

  
  
“Oh.” Kylo is disappointed there wasn’t more drama.

  
  
Plagueis shrugs. “Maul had his girl with him. I’m sure that tempered his inclination to fight.”

“Maul had a girl?”

  
  
“Oh, yes. His gangster moll was a sweet little thing with a scarred face nearly as bad as mine.”

  
  
Say what??

  
  
Plagueis notes his surprise and continues, “They were a striking pair. Two broken souls who propped each other up. There was nothing that young girl wouldn't do for Maul. And in his own way, Maul was quite devoted.”

That comment makes Kylo glum. Because he has a girl who won’t even speak to him. Suddenly, he’s jealous of dead, impotent Darth Maul who fell from grace into ignominious crime. But who had some freak faced girlfriend who loved him and who he loved in return. 

Plagueis must sense where his thoughts have veered. “Be patient with my Daughter.”

“She wants to rebuild the Jedi Order.”

“Yes, I saw her at the Republic inauguration. I was half tempted to journey to Coruscant to fry her with my lightning until she relented,” the Sith Master complains grumpily, sounding every bit like the harassed father of a headstrong daughter he cannot control. 

  
For his part, Kylo is a bit alarmed. “You won’t do that.” 

  
  
“Don’t be so certain.”

  
  
“You won’t do that,” Kylo insists. At least, he hopes not. 

  
  
His host now withdraws the threat. “I will be patient with her youthful rebellion for now, as should you, Lord Ren. But my patience has limits.”

  
Darth Plagueis now slants curious eyes his way. “Did the bond reassert itself now that you’re both back alive?”

  
“No.” It’s not technically a lie. The bond didn’t reappear of its own accord. He prompted the bond to reappear. It’s a distinction he seizes upon.

  
  
If Plagueis detects he is being misled, he doesn’t let on. “I’m surprised. That bond is powerful. But perhaps in time . . .”

The less said about the bond the better, in Kylo’s opinion. He doesn’t want Plagueis to know the dyad has re-formed, lest he take that opportunity to use it for his own purposes. This old cretin might be bankrolling him to further the cause of balance, but it’s also a form of control and oversight, Kylo recognizes. If he doesn’t produce results, this shady Sith might use the dyad just like Sidious did.

So, Kylo quickly changes the topic. “Rey came to kill me.”

  
“I see you’re still alive,” the Muun responds dryly, “so I must conclude she failed.”

  
“I let her go.”

  
  
“Wise move. Play hard to get. She’ll come running back.”

  
“I don’t think so,” he confesses his fear that too much stands between him and Rey. They are star-crossed lovers on opposite sides of a war and the Force. It would be hopelessly romantic, utterly delicious melodrama were it someone else. But it’s not, and that makes him miserable.

  
Plagueis is firm. “She’ll come running back.”

  
“Have you foreseen it?” he blurts out hopefully.

  
“No. But I know women,” Plagueis counters sagely. “That one is far more fragile than she pretends.”

“Rey is pretty tough,” Kylo volunteers loyally, knowing his girl takes pride in her ability to take care of herself.

The exiled Sith disagrees. “Don’t be fooled by her bluster. In my experience, women are far less tough than they pretend, but far more deadly. It’s what makes them so beguiling,” he confides man-to-man.

Er . . . whatever. Kylo can’t decide if that’s reassuring or not. He starts fishing for information now. “How is Darth Sidious these days?”

“Same old, same old,” the Muun answers vaguely.

“But you’re still thwarting him in the Force, right?”

“I bedevil him . . . he bedevils me . . . this is the way it’s been for decades now,” old Plagueis sighs. “But it passes the time and keeps my skills sharp.”

“He won’t stay hidden for long,” Kylo grimly predicts.

“Just long enough for you to win his Empire back for him,” the Muun responds archly. 

“Thank you for the credits,” Kylo feels compelled to tell his benefactor as he stands to take his leave.

Darth Plagueis the Wise smirks up at him. “Don’t spend them all in one place.”

Spending is actually his next order of business. Before he’s back to his flagship, Kylo begins running through his new cash. He buys more munitions, supplies, and hyperfuel. He disburses backpay for his troops and officers, including bonuses for those showing exceptional valor. He ponies up for new TIEs and troop transports that the manufacturer had refused to deliver until he paid in full on delivery. Kylo then pays off every overdue balance he can find in order to keep the goodwill of his weapons dealers and supply chain wholesalers. The message is clear: the credit of the First Order is good. Keep feeding our war machine and we will keep paying.

  
But Kylo doesn’t stop there. He sends emissaries to the governments of each of his remaining worlds to deliver credit transfers with great fanfare. It’s an influx of cash to be used for humanitarian relief compliments of Supreme Leader Ren. He also sends emissaries behind enemy lines to former First Order worlds now in Republic hands. These covert operatives begin their own humanitarian relief efforts unofficially by word of mouth. Keep the faith, and Kylo Ren will keep faith with you, the cash recipients are told. The First Order will take care of those who are loyal. 

  
While they’re at it, his covert operatives also pass out guns and bombs. Behind closed doors in private homes in secret meetings, local people are told to organize themselves to resist. Rise up. Make trouble. Take to the streets. Don’t make it easy for the Core elites to enslave and exploit you for cheap, dangerous labor. The Republic will charge you exorbitant taxes and do nothing in return. They care only about protecting rich multi-system corporations who are accountable to shareholders not local communities. We here in the Rim can take care of ourselves. Let’s prove it by taking matters into our own hands.

  
This latest move is yet again a nod to the past. Kylo is attempting to recreate the model of the homegrown Rebel terror cells that spontaneously emerged in the late days of the Empire. It’s his way of enlisting private citizens to be his army since he lacks the manpower and resources to dislodge the Republic from the occupied worlds. Instead of a siege from without, he will launch a siege from within, encouraging his people to rise up against their oppressors. He doesn’t believe these smalltime efforts will actually make much difference in the outcome of the war, but it complicates things for the Republic and it makes for splashy headlines on the holonet. Nothing undercuts the Republic’s cloying message of ‘we’re liberating the oppressed in the Rim’ than the supposedly grateful locals affirmatively rejecting that narrative themselves. 

Keeping with his approach of unconventional warfare, Kylo decides to take charge of his own manhunt. Because, like it or not, he’s Sheev Palpatine’s Apprentice. That means he knows a thing or two about luring his enemy. And since his enemy’s most fervent wish is to kill him, Kylo decides to once again set the stage for them. He will control the time and place of his own assassination attempt. Yet again, Kylo leaks information to the Republic about his upcoming whereabouts. This time, it’s through independent channels just to mix things up. 

Will they again take the bait? They do. The bond is open when the traitor general interrupts Rey’s afternoon training session. The guy is practically panting with excitement.

“Rey, there’s news,” FN-2187 bursts in. “We have intel. Good, confirmed intel on Ren.”

She lowers her sword and stands from her lunge. “Where is he?”

“It’s not where he is, it’s where he will be. We have coordinates for a rendezvous point he’ll be at next week.”

“Next week?” Rey is dubious as she deactivates her sword and wipes sweat from her brow. “A lot can happen in a week . . . ”

“This is good intel. Ren will be in deep space next week outside the fourth planet of the Telos system and we’ll be there waiting with an ambush. This will be payback for Wobani,” the ex-stormtrooper vows.

“It’s a trap,” Kylo volunteers across the bond just in case his girl is slow on the uptake.

Rey doesn’t miss a beat. “Are you sure this isn’t a trap?” she challenges.

“It’s not a trap. Many Bothans died to bring us this information.”

Kylo snorts. “That’s a sure sign of a trap.”

“It could be a trap,” Rey reiterates.

“It’s not a trap. This is the break we’ve been waiting for. Be in my office tomorrow morning at oh-eight hundred. We’ll plan the attack together,” the general orders before he rushes off to another meeting. “Keep up the training,” he calls over his shoulder as he leaves.

“It’s a trap,” Kylo says again.

Rey ignores him. She just glares hard at the training remote she’s been using. She levitates the remote, concentrates, and then implodes it with the Force. It’s a puerile response that’s something he would do.

Kylo lets a low whistle of appreciation at this surprisingly Dark move. Rey’s angry and worried and looking to vent her emotions. Well, she’ll get no judgement from him. And all in all, seeing Rey express emotions is a good thing. This silent treatment is getting old. What he and Rey really need is a knock down, drag out fight to clear the air, he decides. Maybe this assassination attempt will finally provide a venue for them to speak in person.

The next time the bond opens, he’s lying in bed. Like all military vessels since the days of the Old Republic, his star destroyer keeps Coruscant central time. So does the Republic flagship Rey is on. And that means she’s lying in bed as well. In the bond, it feels as if they are a couple, sharing the same bed side by side in everyday intimacy. Except, they aren’t. The distance between them—physically and emotionally—is considerable.

Rey doesn’t turn her head to look at him. She just stares at the ceiling. But she knows he’s here.

“Hello, Rey.”

Unexpectedly, she speaks. “I need BB8 back.” It’s the first time in almost three weeks that she’s actually addressed him. He will count that as progress. And damn, if it doesn’t make him grin.

“BB8’s the droid on the _Falcon_. I need it back,” she says tersely, still staring at the ceiling.

“Okay.” They have picked that droid’s memory apart by now. It has yielded everything it knows. So, he has no problem returning the droid. 

“What did you do to it?” Rey asks, reading his thoughts and becoming alarmed. She’s very fond of that droid, he senses.

He allays her fears. “The BB unit is intact. We copied its selenium memory drive. That’s all.”

“For intel?”

“Yes.”

“Poe’s been asking for it. It’s his droid.”

Yes, and that’s what made it so valuable. But Dameron’s metal pet has served its purpose. “You can have the droid back.” He’ll have the unit’s main drive restored back to a date before Rey went to Zakuul and she can explain that it was powered down at that point.

Rey is satisfied with that unspoken plan, he senses through their connection. That’s good. He wants to start rebuilding trust with her.

Now, she has another request. “And the _Falcon_? Can I have the _Falcon_ back?”

“The _Falcon_ is mine.” She doesn’t like that answer, but she doesn’t fight it. He’s curious. “How did you explain losing your ship?”

“I didn’t. But everyone knew I planned to give it to Chewie. I think people just assumed I made good on that intention.”

“Where is Chewbacca?”

“He retired. After your mother died and then we won at Exogol, he felt things had come to an end for him. His heart wasn’t really in trying to build another Republic . . . not without Han and your parents anyway . . . We tried to get him to stay, but he wasn’t interested.”

Kylo is not surprised. “He and Han Solo did very little Republic building the last time around.” They took off for adventures, leaving his uber responsible mother and annoyingly earnest uncle to manage things.

“Chewbacca was never the same after your father died,” Rey volunteers and Kylo senses how much respect and admiration she has for the wookiee through the bond. It makes him a little jealous.

But it’s a safe topic, so he continues, “Chewie had a life debt to my father. It was sort of like this bond.”

She doesn’t appreciate the analogy. “How do I get the droid?”

He seizes the opportunity for a face-to-face meeting alone. “Meet me on Jakku. Come to this ambush you’re planning in an X-wing. Tell them you want to be ready to land on my ship if capture is an option. I’ll be in a TIE. We’ll let the big ships battle it out until my guys win. Then you can pretend to escape alive. But first, stop on Jakku to meet me for the droid.”

“You want me to lead my people to certain death in an ambush?”

He doesn’t see the problem. “They know what they are risking. You already raised the concern that it’s a trap. But like a good Jedi, you’re willing to take the risk to get a shot at killing me,” he reasons. “Don’t worry, they’ll buy it. You’re the noble self-sacrificing type.” The type he’s nothing like. Well . . . except for that brief lapse on Exogol when she died and he killed himself reviving her. 

“Of course, they’ll buy it—they trust me!” Rey wails, snarling, “I hate the position you have put me in.”

Yes, he can feel her frustration. He shares it for different reasons. “I never wanted it to be like this.”

“This how it is!” she hisses, still refusing to look at him. It’s super childish, but he refrains from pointing that out. Hopefully, she’ll get the message through the bond. 

If she does, she doesn’t care. She keeps staring at the ceiling like she hates it. Like she’s about to make the ceiling explode just like she did the remote earlier. “This how it is, and you made it like this!”

He fights to remain calm in the face of her accusations. For when they are connected in the bond, he has a tendency to match and mirror her emotions. They are a combustible mix. Whether it’s anger or attraction, they have a certain chemistry between them that escalates things fast. So, trying to remain cool, he puts his preferred spin on the situation. “The Force made the bond. Our circumstances are what makes it like this. The war context is what makes us opponents. Rey, we are not natural enemies and never have been.”

She objects to that statement but doesn’t voice it aloud. Instead, she complains, “Why do you even want the _Falcon_?” She really likes that ship.

“It could be useful.”

“Oh, so you’re going to fly it now?”

“I might. If I need to swoop into Coruscant or onto some Republic ship to rescue you, it has all the proper clearances.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You might if the traitor and Dameron ever learn about us.” As she fumes, he promises half-seriously, half-mockingly, “Don’t worry, my love. I will always come to save you.”

“Don't call me that!”

“Get used to it, my love,” he retorts unrepentant. He’s feeling flippant in response to her resentment. “See you at the ambush. I’ll bring the droid. You bring your friends for my assassination.”

She’s riled up enough now to actually look at him. Rey turns her head and it’s almost as if they are mere inches apart. Close enough for a kiss if he leaned in far enough. But alas, the mood is anything but romantic. “Your overconfidence is your weakness,” Rey hisses.

“No,” he purrs into the bond, “my weakness is you, Rey of Jakku. Haven’t you figured that out?”


	18. chapter 18

Rey’s sense of dread gathers like a darkening stormfront in the days leading up to the next attempt to assassinate Kylo Ren. 

Inwardly she churns while outwardly she says and does all the right things. She participates in planning meetings. She critiques the holographic models of different attack scenarios. She even practices flying an X-wing with the squadron who will provide cover fire while she lands on Ben’s ship. Throughout the process, Rey is the consummate team player. In the end, the collaboration yields results. The Republic settles on a mission plan that is flexible for several contingencies. Finn wants to be nimble for how to kill the enemy leader as the battle unfolds. We might not get another shot at this, the General reminds everyone. Let’s make this count.

And what if it’s a trap? The question in an open meeting earns Rey a sharp look. Finn doesn’t like being challenged before his command team, as usual. If it’s a trap, we do as much damage as possible and then jump to lightspeed in as many different directions as we can. They can’t track all of us at once, Finn sighs. Everyone in the room knows the subtext of the exchange: the First Order’s hyperspace tracking capability has lost the Republic far too many ships recently. Fleeing to lightspeed is not the clean escape it once was.

Finn will not participate in the actual mission. He will be monitoring from his flagship nearby. And that’s at least some comfort for Rey. 

When the day for the attack finally arrives, she is a nervous wreck. As she privately bids goodbye to Finn in the hangar bay, she raises again the possibility of a trap. “I have a bad feeling about this,” Rey whispers urgently. “I don’t think this intelligence is good. Finn, search your feelings. You will know it to be true. Listen to the Force, it will warn you of danger,” she urges.

But yet again, her concerns fall on deaf ears. Her friend gives her a quick hug for encouragement. “Don’t get cold feet, Rey. You’ve got this.” 

She gulps. 

“May the Force be with you,” Finn says solemnly.

She gulps again. 

The Force is not with the Republic. Today, the Force is with Kylo Ren and the First Order. And today, the Force is Dark. The mission goes every bit as badly as Rey fears. As soon as the Republic emerges from hyperspace to surprise the waiting First Order star destroyer, they find themselves surrounded by enemy ships jumping in from all directions simultaneously launching TIE fighters. It is a swarm of death and destruction.

“Holy shit! This was supposed to be our ambush, not theirs!”

“Is that an interdictor? And a dreadnought? Green Team, we’re fucked!”

“Cut the chatter, Green Two. Green Leader, please advise.”

Rey states the obvious which was always a foregone conclusion: “It’s a trap. Take evasive action.”

Ben is in a TIE, as promised. The bond is open, of course. This time, she can’t actually see Ben. It’s almost as if the Force doesn’t want to distract her in the midst of deadly combat. Rey is beginning to think Ben is right that the bond is a heavy-handed intercession of the Force designed to keep them from killing one another. It brings them together—no matter how awkwardly—and it protects them from one another’s worst impulses.

“Nice of you guys to drop by.” Ben’s voice is in her ears, not in her head. That he can be so glib about all this imminent death incenses her. In the moment, Rey hates him for it.

_I’m on an open channel to my squadron._

_  
_  
“Are they hearing me?”

  
  
_No. They only hear me speak_.

  
  
“Good. Then you are my captive audience,” Ben gloats.

  
  
Her wingman Green Three is starting to panic, “That’s a lot of TIEs . . . ”

  
  
Ben has the gall to actually chuckle. “This is where the fun begins. Your friends are going to die in a blaze of glory. Heroes all for the glory of the Republic.”

Rey scowls and makes a snap decision. “I’m on the leader. The rest of you start taking out the surface cannons on that dreadnought and the star destroyer. And someone go blow that interdictor. We need a way out of here.”

“Green Leader, that’s not in the plan—

“It is now. Finn said that if it’s a trap, then do as much damage as possible. Green Squad, stay on offense and let the next wave we launch handle defense for our ship.”

“But Rey—”

“I’m on the leader alone. That’s Ren!” she reveals.

“Ren?? Wait--what?? Are you sure?”

“He’s mine, Green Five. That’s an order. No one interferes!”

“Come and get me, baby.” Ben peels off from formation and rushes aggressively at her ship.

Rey rushes back headlong, firing as she goes. And now, it’s a game of chicken in space, a risky contest of wills. At the last second, Rey blinks and swerves away as her shots bounce harmlessly off his front shields. 

“Did Han Solo teach you how to fly? That was reckless!” Ben objects. 

But now he spins right at her, firing away. “Whoa! That was close!” Rey careens off to safety. Her adrenaline is racing from the near miss. 

“I can be reckless too,” Ben boasts. 

“You’re enjoying this!” she accuses. His cavalier attitude stokes her sense of outrage. Because this isn’t a game. This is war and there are people’s lives and the future of the galaxy at stake.

But yet again, Ben is gleefully nasty. “I’ve been counting the hours until you came to kill me, Jedi. This is the highlight of my day.”

He makes another attempt to engage that Rey easily evades. It’s a neat trick. “That roll was nice,” he compliments. “Very nice.”

She snarls through gritted teeth at his implicit condescension. “You’ll find I’m full of surprises.”

“I already knew that.” He leans on the throttle to let his ship open up. As she gives chase, Rey realizes that he’s drawing her away from the action. 

He reads her thoughts through the bond. “I’m keeping you safe. I didn’t bring you here to kill you.”

  
  
“We’re here to kill you!”

  
  
“You’ll have to catch me first.”

Beside them, the main battle rages. It’s not going well. Rey keeps seeing quick flash fires from disintegrating ships that instantly evaporate in the oxygen-free void of space. She dodges careening debris that looks like a wing of a downed TIE. But sadly, most of the hit ships appear to be Republic X-wings. Their twisted metal carcasses float by in silence.

“Green Leader, there’s too many of them!” someone wails. Simultaneously, the open channel reveals the sounds of an explosion as another Green squadron member dies. Before long, this could become a full-fledged rout, Rey fears.

She’s not the only one worried that the mission is failing fast. “Get those last two surface cannons so Rey can get onboard that ship!”

“Negative! Negative!” she responds to the battle chatter. The latest Republic reinforcements apparently aren’t clued in to what’s going on. It adds to the chaos. “I’m not sneaking aboard. This is a trap! Ren’s not onboard. He’s in a TIE.”

“Ren flies a TIE?” someone in a newly deployed X-wing yelps.

“Yes!” another voice responds emphatically. “He’s not on the ship. Repeat, Ren is not on the ship. Mission to land on the star destroyer is aborted.”

“Rey, can I get some help here?” It’s Yellow Leader, whose squadron is defending the Republic cruiser.

“Negative. She’s chasing Ren in his ship.”

“Which one is Ren?”

“Let Rey worry about Ren. She is doing her job. Let’s do ours.” It’s Green Two taking charge.

But it’s dawning on Rey that she is doing exactly what Ben wants. She’s letting him monopolize her attention while his men pick off the Republic fighters and pummel their capital ship. So, she changes tactics. “On my way!” She abandons the chase for Ben and starts hammering every TIE she passes with laserfire. “Green Team, protect the cruiser so it can jump to safety. Then, let’s all get out of here. We’re not getting Ren today.”

Her guns are blazing as what’s left of Green Squadron joins her to assist in the defense of the cruiser. But their efforts make little headway. They are a handful of X-wings against a slew of TIEs and a dreadnought that has opened up its full arsenal. 

“Why is no one firing back?” she wonders aloud as the swarm of enemy fighters cedes her ground again and again. They obliterate her wingman Green Two, but no one so much as aims at her.

Ben supplies the answer. “They know you’re our spy come to spring the trap.” 

“But I’m shooting at them!”

“They think that’s only to make it look good.”

“You’re letting me kill your men??”

“You’re letting me kill your men,” he points out.

The situation is one part ludicrous farce and one part tragic betrayal. Because all around them, good men and women on both sides are dying fighting for their respective causes. That their leaders are callously deceiving them makes a mockery of their sacrifice. Rey feels horrible about her role in what’s happening and deeply disappointed in Ben for engineering today.

It keeps getting worse. The Republic cruiser that was supposed to be her backup is listing to the starboard side with minimal functioning shields and one engine dark. While she’s busy scattering TIEs, the disabled cruiser succumbs. The battle is lost. 

Who is left other than her? Not many. Rey counts five X-wing survivors. “This is Green Leader. Disengage and jump. Repeat—disengage and jump!” There’s no point in lingering to be killed as well. There’s nothing Rey or anyone else can do for those left alive on the cruiser.

As she prepares for her own jump to lightspeed, she hears Ben issue orders, “Track the others and finish them. Kill them all. No quarter. Let it be a lesson to the Republic to think twice before they come for me again.” 

Rey cringes with guilt she knows she deserves. She reaches for the lever to engage the hyperdrive and hears Ben’s voice between her ears. _See you on Jakku, my love._

It’s a short jump to her homeworld. That means rattled Rey is still a mess of emotions as she lands on the familiar desert sands. Opposite her, Ben pops out of his TIE cockpit looking very overdressed for the Jakku heat in leather gloves and a heavy cape. Kylo Ren may have ditched the helmet but the rest of him is basically the same young Darth Vader cosplay. She too is sweltering in her baggy orange thermal flightsuit that was designed to retain body heat to protect against the cold of space. 

They stand sweating opposite one another for a long tense moment. He knows how guilty and angry she feels. She knows how concerned Ben is for her. For when they are in close physical proximity now, it seems like the bond is open by default. Their two minds are one. There are no boundaries. There is no privacy. Their dyad has grown to obscure those limitations.

Time to get this over with before they both get heat exhaustion, Rey decides. She’s no longer accustomed to the desert like she once was. “Where’s my droid?”

Ben ignores her. He’s looking around at the desolate wilderness. It’s late afternoon and purple shadows are forming as twilight creeps closer.

“This is where it all began for you.” His lips twist and she can feel the pity her past arouses in him. Ben knows Jakku embarrasses her, so he doesn’t express it. Instead, he goes a completely different direction. “You’re just the latest orphan in obscurity to find a droid carrying dangerous information. You know that, right? The droid leads you to a wizard and to a cause. Soon, you are awakened to a power you didn’t know you have as you take your first steps into a larger world. Nothing is ever the same again once you understand your true importance.”

“Luke . . . ” He’s talking about Luke. Rey can feel the emotional pain leaching out of Ben as he recalls the uncle he once admired and loved. Ben is arresting in his aggrieved sense of utter abandonment. That night at the temple changed everything and he still can’t get over it.

“You see the pattern, right? The Force didn’t get what it wanted in my uncle. So it’s trying anew now with you.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not Luke.”

“I know that,” Ben answers firmly. “I would never have bonded us unless I thought we could come to agreement. I didn’t do this to ruin your life or mine.”

She is here for the droid, not a lecture on the Force. “Ben, don’t make me another offer.” She’s not in the mood for another ‘join me’ speech. Not after what just happened. She’s far too angry.

His eyes flit over the sword that hangs off her belt. His resentment shows. “I won’t make you any more offers. I’ve had enough of your rejection.”

Fine. Good. “Where’s my droid?”

He ignores the question. “Luke was supposed to balance the Force because his father didn’t. And since my mother mostly fled the Force for politics, the burden fell to my uncle alone. It was a great burden that he could not bear.”

Rey nods impatiently. “I know the story. Luke hid from the Force and the galaxy until I found him.”

“In the end, Luke was forsaken by the Force after it gave him every chance it could. Luke was stubborn, like you are stubborn.” Ben shoots her a look full of pouty frustration. "Rey, you cannot rebuild the Jedi Order. The Force won’t let you."

"Where's my droid?" Her tone is increasingly clipped and curt. "I didn't come to talk. And it's hot. Give me my droid!"

But Ben persists in his talk of the past. "Luke wanted to be a great man--"

“Luke was a great man compared to you!” she jeers.

“He might have become me had he not cut himself off from the Force," Ben retorts. "I see now that there was much fear in my uncle and my mother. They dreaded failure as much as they dreaded the Dark Side. It’s why they kept their parentage secret . . . it’s why they insisted on me becoming a Jedi . . . they were so afraid of what I might become.”

“And you did become it!”

“Yes." Ben gives her a look of intense indignation. "I did.”

"You’re a monster!" Rey rages back. "Luke was many things—depressed, unhappy, frustrated, angry, guilt ridden, even wrong . . . but he was never a monster! He was never as bad as you!" Luke Skywalker would never have plotted today’s sham ambush that cost far too many lives and accomplished nothing in the larger scheme of things.

Ben answers her plainly. “I don't feel like a monster. I don’t feel like the bad guy. I feel like a person driven to extremes by circumstances I cannot control." He shoots her a peevish look, adding, "And by people like you who refuse to be reasonable."

"You are the bad guy!" Rey is angry, so very angry. Angry at him, angry at the situation, and angry at herself. All that anger finds its focus on Ben, which is where it mostly belongs. "What you did today--"

"We’re at war! You came to kill me and I fought back in self-defense. That doesn’t make me the bad guy.”

“You didn’t need to obliterate that cruiser!”

“You think I should let my murderers get off easy? You think your friends should be pardoned? Don’t take me for a fool, Rey! ‘No quarter’ is designed to be a deterrent for the Republic’s next foolhardy attempt. Perhaps they’ll think twice before they come at me again. That's really what you want, right? It will save that uneasy conscience of yours from a repeat of today.”

She doesn’t want to talk about this. It’s far too fresh. And she doesn’t even want to think about a repeat of the defeat that just happened. “Where’s my droid?” It’s time to get BB8 and go.

This time, Ben responds to her request. He gestures behind him to the ship. BB8 drops out of the parked TIE fighter and rolls over to her.

“Are you okay?” The ball shaped droid issues a series of gurgling beeps that reassure her. After kneeling a moment to straighten BB8's perpetually bent antenna, Rey rises to her feet. “Alright, then. I’ll be going.”

“Don't leave yet.”

Ben's whine and slightly pathetic look set her off. “You just killed hundreds of people! So forgive me if I don’t feel in the mood for a nice chat!” She’s heard enough. Ben needs to stop blaming his family for his current problems, pretending that he’s some perpetual victim and not a full-fledged victimizer at this point. Listening to him excuse his misdeeds with his fatalistic version of the Force has grown downright irritating.

“Those people came to kill me.”

“Yes, I know! And I couldn’t stop them! No matter what I might have told them about you and me, they were always going to come!” This is the utter frustration of her predicament. For confessing the truth to the Republic wouldn’t have solved anything. Finn was determined to take this opportunity despite the risk, and Poe and others backed him. No one believed her that it was a trap. Even had she revealed everything, it wouldn’t have stopped the attack. If anything, more people might have died because the Republic would had added more manpower to compensate for the absence of a Jedi.

“Today was the Force at work, not me.”

There Ben goes again blaming the Force and not himself. And suddenly, he’s blaming her too.

“I never wanted this for us . . . but you insisted on this.”

Rey hollers back, “This is your fault! You were the one who ran back to the First Order—“

“After you announced you were returning to the Republic—“

“You’re prolonging the war! It won’t solve anything!”

“It might!”

Is he serious? He’s serious. Rey schools him as their shouting match continues. “More war is simply more death and more pain! Ben, you eavesdrop on the Republic leadership enough to know how angry people are at you. There is no compromise to be had for the Rim issues. The more your people riot in the streets, the more unreasonable they look and the fewer accommodations they will get.”

“And so, for yet another generation, the Rim has to suffer? Because they deserve it for the effrontery of wanting something different from business as usual? All those far-flung worlds and flyover systems have gotten uppity again, haven’t they?”

Rey lifts her chin at his sarcasm. “I don't speak like that about Rimmers and neither does Finn.”

“Yes, but a lot of your friends do. We’re the deplorables of the galaxy who cling to our guns and to our—“

“Stop it! Stop pretending the privileged Prince of Alderaan can empathize with—“

“—the drooling subhuman cretins on the edge of the Unknown Regions? Oh, you’d be surprised, Rey, how well I know my people. I know their resentment and their sense of betrayal well. I understand their violence and their independent streak. I respect their willingness to speak truth to power as they tell the moralizing Republic to fuck off and get off their lawn.”

“I am not blind to the shortcomings of the Republic,” she grinds out, “but I think things will be better for everyone if the war ends soon.”

Ben looks down that long nose of his. He is the picture of righteous indignation as he vows, “I will never surrender. War is Dark and Darkness is my tool. I will use war to bring the Republic to its knees if I have to in order to bring balance.”

“War is not balance—”

“The Force is with me, Rey! Don’t say you haven’t noticed.”

“Where was all this politics on Zakuul?" she exposes his hypocrisy. "You were fully prepared to turn your back on your cause and your people then!”

“That’s right,” he nods. “I would have done it for balance and for us. I never wanted this, and you know it.”

“I didn't want this either!”

“Liar! You know the history as well as anybody! When Skywalkers fight, there is civil war. This only ends when we unite or one of us dies.”

She fumes, “I hate that you think like that! You say you want to let the past die but you’re a slave to the past! Forever blaming Luke and Leia . . . always emulating Vader . . . promising some economic renaissance in the Rim like you’re some Separatist Viceroy. You are mired in the mistakes of the past and you seem determined to repeat them.” Kylo Ren is like some vainglorious anarchist hellbent on self-destruction for himself and his followers. That he has made her unwillingly complicit is horrifying. Rey now outright wails, “Why couldn't you have just walked away? Why did you have to start the war up again?”

It’s Ben’s turn to lift his chin with disdain. “I don't walk away. If you nothing about who I am, know that! I am not Luke!”

They’re back to Luke Skywalker again. Conversations with Ben are always the same rehash of blame, ideology, and grand promises for the future. He’s a bitter optimist and a cynical dreamer. A ruthless warlord who claims god the Force is on his side and so she should join him as well. It might all be laughable except it is deadly serious. He—Ben Solo—Kylo Ren—is deadly serious. This morning’s events could not have made that more clear.

Rey has had enough. “This—us—you and I—this is a disaster in the making! One of these times we are really going to kill one another . . . with swords or in a ship or with the Force . . . I did not survive Jakku and Darth Sidious for this! Ben, this is beyond dysfunctional! We are . . . we are . . . ”

“Totally fucked up.”

“Yes! This is toxic and unhealthy for each of us! We are enemies and yet we can never be free of each other!”

“You’re not my enemy.”

“I came today to kill you!”

“You came to pretend to kill me. That’s different.”

He's right. Rey looks down and complains, “I feel so manipulated. I have allowed you to twist my mind until . . . until I am betraying my own cause to protect you . . . and why? You’re not worth it!”

Ben steps forward. “If you will only stop condemning me, you will see the good in me. You can see the good in Luke but not in me—why not?” Ben feels misjudged. Unfairly condemned by his parents, by his uncle, by the galaxy, and by her. 

And there is the crux of her hurt. Because all along, she has seen the conflict in Kylo Ren and done her best to lead him back to the Light that he keeps refusing. “I did see the good in you! That’s why I surrendered to Snoke . . . that’s why we . . . on Zakuul . . . ” She stops, refusing to put words to that mistake. In hindsight, going to bed together has only deepened the pain of their relationship.

But not for Ben. He steps forward again. “I live for memories of that night.”

She throws up her hands as she feels her cheeks burn. “Don’t talk about it—“

“That won't mean it didn’t happen.”

“I know . . . ” Oh, how she knows. Rey covers her face with her hands and mutters, “I never thought life could ever get so complicated.” And the stakes are so high! She’s so hopelessly torn between what she wants for herself, what the galaxy needs, and what Ben wants her to be. The pressure has been building for weeks now and it culminates today. To her dismay, she starts to cry. 

It brings Ben to her side. He hovers over her. “Everyone wants to be the hero because they don’t know how hard it is.”

“I don't feel like a hero,” she hiccups. 

“You're a hero to me. You took on Darth Sidious.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“But you beat him.”

“That’s not enough. I failed.”

“Next time, we’ll do it together . . . with balance.”

Ben talks about balancing the Force with such reverence, as the ultimate quest to be achieved. But Rey thinks they are far, far way from balance if today is any indication. “We’ll never do it . . .”

“We will.” Ben wraps long, strong arms around her and this is the hug she desperately needs. Her life has largely been devoid of touch. There was never a parent to hold her close and kiss it better. Never a friend to kiss hello and hug goodbye. At this point in life, Rey knows she’s unusually standoffish. And since the business handshake is not a custom among the Republic military and no one high-fives the intimidating Jedi woman in the room, long periods go by without Rey touching another person. It’s nothing like the isolation of her Jakku days, of course. But now that she knows the enjoyment of touch, she craves it in a way she didn’t before. 

“Those days are over.” Ben is in her thoughts again. He promises, “Anytime you need me, I will come for you. I will give you a kiss or a hug or more . . . whatever you need to feel loved. I need this too,” he adds as he strokes her hair.

He’s sincere. Ben is often sincere. That’s the most confounding part of his personality. For their relationship has a deep underpinning of care despite the deceit, disappointments, and betrayals. This man truly is toxic, and yet she can’t seem to quit him. Something about his heavy soul feels like a mirror image to her own.

“Stop overthinking things and come home with me now,” Ben promptly reneges on his promise not to make her an offer. “We don’t have to be apart. Send the droid back with the ship on autopilot.”

Rey chooses to ignore this latest pitch as she sheepishly revels in his embrace. It tamps down her considerable anger. He’s grounding her, she realizes. The familiar Jakku setting helps too. Just for a moment, she can turn off her mind that has been reeling with recriminations the whole way here. 

That the man who put her in this untenable situation is also the source of her comfort bewilders Rey. All along, Ben has been her tormentor. But then quite unexpectedly on Exogol he also became her self-appointed savior. She doesn’t know how to reconcile those roles. He calls her ‘my love’ and yet he manipulates her. The bond he rekindled is the tool of an obsessive stalker. Is that what it means to love on the Dark Side? And what does it say about her that she is clinging tightly now and not pushing him away? Is she so desperate for love that she will accept his treatment? He tells her she’s his weakness when, in fact, maybe he is her undoing. It’s just that the raw intensity of this man is hard to resist. What is it about him, about his Darkness, that she cannot break free from? Ben has long held a powerful spell over her that has prompted all sorts of impetuous, foolhardy risk taking on her part. 

She knows she needs to stop. She has to put an end to this embrace, to their hot-and-cold love affair, to his eavesdropping through the bond, and to her ongoing treasonous deceit. She and Ben just aren’t sustainable in this war context. It has her compromising her ideals and losing herself in the process. So, resolutely she thrusts him back. 

He doesn’t object. He merely takes the shove.

She starts babbling. It’s not an apology but an attempt at an explanation. “I can’t—we can’t—this is—“

“This is the will of the Force.”

Damn him for his sanctimony. It touches a raw nerve. All that pulsing rage from earlier comes rushing back to Rey. She blasts him with Force lightning before she can think to stop herself. 

She shrieks as Ben goes flying into a sand dune. 

Is she sorry? Not really. She’s mostly aghast and embarrassed. This is what he has reduced her to—a tearful, angry, unhappy young woman. In the moment, she hates him for it. It’s like he’s dragging her down to his level. 

Rey slowly backs away as Ben climbs to his feet. After a few stumbling steps, Rey turns and flees to the safety of her X-wing. She scrambles up the ladder to hop into the cockpit.

Ben doesn’t give chase. He just stands there glowering on the sandbank and watches her ignite her engines. For her part, Rey departs equally disturbed by the hug as by the lightning. 

Hours later, she’s dozing in hyperspace en route to Coruscant in her X-wing when she gets an incoming call. Is it Finn? No. Worse. It’s Poe. Rey takes a second to psyche herself up for a conversation she would rather not have right now. But she can’t duck this call. Rey quickly wipes at her eyes before she answers. She had fallen asleep after crying her eyes out.

“Hold for secure transmission from General Dameron please.” Seconds later, the familiar face appears on camera.

“Rey.”

“Are we alone?” She doesn’t want to talk in front of Poe’s usual entourage. 

Her wan face with puffy eyes must convince him. He nods. “Give me a moment. Let me clear the room and close my door.”

She waits, wiping again at her eyes. She’s fine to cry in front of Finn but Poe is different. She and Poe aren’t close and are not likely to ever be more than respectful colleagues. That’s partly because their involvement in the Resistance never overlapped. Their mutual relationships with Finn and Leia and their common goals are the basis for their professional rapport. But there’s also a big age gap between them. Cocky Poe is twice her age and he tends to act condescending towards her at times. Hopefully, today isn’t one of those times. She is upset enough as it is.

Poe turns his attention back to the transmission and frowns. “Rey, what happened?”

“Did you get my report?” She sent a terse summary of the battle back to Finn and Poe during her jump to Jakku. Finn, who was monitoring things from his flagship, probably wrote his own version as well. Rey didn’t bother reading it. 

“Yeah, I read your report. What the Hell happened?”

He wants her to tell him in her own words. Could he be suspicious? Rey is suddenly paranoid that her loyalty is suspect. She starts playing aggressive defense. 

“It was a trap, like I feared. I told Finn that I had a bad feeling about this mission. But he was so certain the information was good. He didn’t want to waste the chance for a shot at Ren . . .”

“Yeah, I know. He told me. He took full responsibility already.”

“I didn’t trust the intel but I went anyway. I didn’t want to waste the chance either.”

“We all know you want to bring Ren to justice.”

She nods and gulps back her latest wave of guilt at her many deceptions. But she’s in too deep now to remedy the situation. “There was a First Order star destroyer there and some patrol ships when we arrived. They were the lure. We began our ambush like we planned. Then their reinforcements arrived. The dreadnought opened fire and so did their other ships. We were vastly outgunned and outnumbered and there was no easy escape to hyperspace. They had one of those interdictor ships that project gravity wells to kick you out of lightspeed . . . ”

“Go on.”

She feels subdued and slightly numb as she recounts her experience. “There’s not much to tell. They picked us apart ship by ship.”

“How’d you get out alive?”

“I’m a pretty good pilot.”

“Against those odds?”

“They mostly focused in our capital ship. They weren’t interested in the fighters until it was disabled. Then, it was a dogfight and I survived. Once they blew our cruiser, there were only a few of us left. We disengaged. Poe, there was no point in continuing the fight at that point.”

“So, you jumped?

“Yes. Someone finished off the interdictor at some point, so we were clear. When I left, there were five of us left.”

“The others never made it back.”

“Oh,” she sighs, suddenly realizing that she is the sole survivor. “Hyperspace tracking, I guess.”

He nods. “It was classic Ren. No quarter.”

_He saved his mercy for her_. Rey squirms in her seat. “Poe, I feel . . . I feel . . .”

“I know how you feel. I was there when we lost our entire bombing fleet, remember? Survivor guilt sucks.”

Her guilt is way more complicated than survivor guilt. Rey attempts to explain without betraying the whole truth. In a small voice, she confesses, “I feel like I am failing everyone.”

“You're not.”

“I am! I feel like Ren is my fault . . . like he is my burden. And yet, everyone else dies but me and Ren still lives . . .” They are the two reigning favorites of the Force, protected by one another and their godlike powers while the little people around them all suffer and die. The unfairness of it all beleaguers her. Rey wants to help people, not hurt them. She’s in a terrible position right now and she can’t see a way out.

“We never should have acted on that intelligence. It was a trap all along, like you feared.”

To be fair, she admits, “I didn't give Finn anything more than my hunch to go on. I couldn’t prove it was a trap. It just seemed like something Ren would do, I guess.”

Poe twists his jaw. “I’m starting to believe that a lot of our intelligence about the First Order is wrong. They are feeding us what they want us to believe. We’re paying credits to informants who are pocketing our cash and acting as conduits for Ren. He’s playing us . . . he’s playing us big time.”

Yes, and no one is getting played more than she is. Rey agrees wholeheartedly. “He’s on the Dark Side. Deceit and manipulation are his go-to tactics.” She worries that Poe has no idea how wily his opponent truly is. 

“It’s like what’s left of the First Order is smoke and mirrors and we’re still chasing it across the galaxy. Wasting our resources while he regroups and ferments social unrest. He’s making civilians his foot soldiers now.”

“I saw that footage of riots on Dantooine.”

“There is now copycat mayhem reported on Mandalore and Navarro. It’s like Ren and his followers are prepared to burn down the Rim to make certain we can’t control it. He’s lost, but he’s determined to leave us a mess of discontent to deal with.” Poe worries aloud now, “We are never going to have free and fair elections on their worlds unless things change. Those people are never going to accept the defeat of their First Order candidates. Not with Ren’s propaganda machine pumping out conspiracy theories and fake news on the holonet. Their PR game is surprisingly strong even now at the end,” he gripes.

“Are we letting First Order candidates run for the Senate?” Rey asks. 

“We haven’t decided. The Chancellor thinks no. She says people who attack democracy don’t get to participate in democracy.”

“What do you think?”

“I’m inclined to let them run. The point of democracy is self-determination,” Poe grumbles. 

“And if the Rim elects the whole First Order command to the Senate?”

“It won’t give them control. We’ve got it rigged so they can’t get more than a minority. But if they do elect the First Order, then what did we accomplish in the end?” Poe is glum. 

“We got them to buy-in to the democratic process.”

“Is that a win? I’m not sure. Darth Sidious ran a democratic process, remember?” Poe sighs. He knows, like she does, that there are no easy answers to the galaxy’s deepening rifts.

“I don't think you can exclude First Order candidates and then get the Rim to accept the Republic. Giving them Senators they don’t want isn’t representation.”

“There are write-in ballots on a bunch of Rim worlds. Half of them are going to vote for Kylo Ren for Senate.”

“That’s not good.” 

Poe meets her eyes steadily. “You need to kill him for us so they won’t vote for a dead man, Rey.”

About that . . . “Poe, I need to tell you and Finn something.”

His tired eyes narrow. “This sounds like more bad news.”

“On Exogol . . . with Sidious . . . when the old Emperor exploded . . . well, it was too much for me. I passed out afterwards and well, this is going to sound crazy . . . but I think I died.”

“You didn’t tell us that. And you look plenty alive now to me.”

She explains, “Ren was still alive. He brought me back. He used the Force to bring me back to life.”

Poe looks incredulous. “You’re telling me you were resurrected by Kylo Ren?”

“Yes. He was wounded at the time and the effort to revive me killed him. I saw him disappear into the Force. I felt him die . . . like I had died . . . it’s why I was so sure he was gone . . . ”

Poe’s charismatic face scowls. “But if he could resurrect you, I guess that’s how he resurrected himself?”

Rey sidesteps that question. “The point is that he saved me when he didn’t have to. And the effort killed him.”

“Not permanently,” Poe gripes. “So, what you’re saying is that you feel indebted to Ren? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Rey takes a deep breath and plunges forward. “There is Light in him still.”

“Leia believed that off and on. Of course, she was his mother.”

“She was right. Kylo Ren is not all bad.” There. She has said it out loud. Although, after today’s events, Rey’s not inclined to believe it herself.

Poe is skeptical as well. “This is Kylo ‘no quarter’ Ren we’re talking about? I’ll take your word for it. But he’s still my enemy and we are at war. Don’t go wobbly on me now, Rey.”

She dares to go even further. In a small voice, she admits, “Poe, I don’t think I can kill him.”

He shuts her down just as her eyes flood with fresh tears. “Oh, no, Rey. Don’t do this. You’ve had a hard day and a big loss. Take some time and regroup a bit.”

She persists. Her voice is a hoarse whisper of inconvenient, inexplicable truth. “I don’t think I can do it, Poe. I can’t kill Kylo Ren.”

He’s angry now. “Then the First Order has won! You were our last hope now that Luke and Leia are gone.”

Yes, she knows. “It’s like I told you . . . I’m letting everyone down.”

Poe is silent for a long moment. “This is why you left after Exogol, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I was confused about what I wanted.”

“But you came back. You know what? Take some more time. Go do whatever you did before and then come back.”

“I went to Jakku,” she sniffs. Like most of her explanations these days, it’s technically true.

“Fine. Jakku or wherever. Anywhere that you can clear your head and think through things to get your priorities straight.” Poe fixes her with a reproving look. “This is no time for scruples. Rey, we need you.”

“I know. But I’m not sure I can be who you need me to be,” she confesses. 

Poe is having none of it. “Ren is a killing machine wrapped in a manifesto of rage. The First Order is chaos weaponized. His goons will do and say anything he asks. Ren can’t be allowed to run loose in the galaxy for decades. Think of the body count that guy will rack up.”

She says nothing.

Poe looks truly uncomfortable now as he warns in a quiet voice, “Rey, if what you fear is true and Sidious is still out there, we can’t risk Ren teaming up with him again. You have to take him out for us. It will be justice for Hosnia.”

“Does more killing ever bring justice?” she challenges.

“It will in Ren’s case.”

Poe is giving her a disappointed look that makes her feel even worse. Rey starts sputtering now. “I believe in the Republic . . . I believe in democracy . . . I believe in the Jedi . . . I just have a hard time squaring that with killing Ren.” Because much as she hates it, Ben’s a Chosen One who can bring balance to the Force. It makes him too important to kill.

“He’s not going to turn to the good side. If his family couldn’t convince him, you won’t.”

“I know.”

Poe reverts to his earlier suggestion now. “Look, Rey, take some time and make peace with what happened today. It’s still fresh.” His words are compassionate, but they also smack of his usual condescension. Poe’s acting like she’s some upset, emotional young woman who doesn’t know her own mind. If she will just calm down and think about it, of course she will come around to his point of view.

He must sense her reticence because Poe lays on the hard sell. “I really need you to step up to take out Ren. This is your role. We are all being asked to do things we don’t want to do in this war.”

“But—“

“Don't be Luke Skywalker. Rey, don’t walk away from the problem only you can solve.”

That argument hits home. Miserable Rey has no rebuttal. 

Poe signals the end of the transmission. “I’ll talk to Finn about what happened on Exogol. Let me handle him. Take all the time you need.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“And Rey?”

“Yes?”

“Killing Ren will honor all the memory of those lives lost yesterday. Do it for them.”

She is noncommittal. “I have BB8 with me. I’m bringing him to you now.”

“Yeah, okay. Good.” Poe moves on. “Goodbye for now.” The transmission fuzzes out.

The next day, Rey arrives at Coruscant. At the Republic’s makeshift headquarters, she hands off BB8 to one of Poe’s staffers. Then she ducks in to say hello to Rose Tico who is working round-the-clock with the political team planning the upcoming elections. There are probably others Rey should meet and greet while she’s here, but she’s too discouraged today. Instead, she takes a long walk to a pretty green space on the Upper Level adjacent to the old senatorial district. It’s mostly deserted during a weekday. Relishing the solitude on this very crowded urban world, Rey takes a seat on a bench and mulls things over.

Poe’s words are still ringing in her ears. _Don’t be Luke Skywalker_. Ironically, that’s a message both the First Order and the Republic can agree upon. Everyone, including herself at times, is willing to heap blame at the feet of the legendary Jedi Master. Ben faults his uncle for his devotion to the Jedi Order and for his narrow understanding of the Force. Poe faults Luke for abdicating his hero role in the fight against the First Order. And she herself faults the late Jedi Master for failing to train her and for omitting to divulge the truth of Snoke. All of those complaints have merit, Rey judges. And yet, she feels increasing empathy for the predicament Luke Skywalker found himself in.

Like her, Luke was tasked with rebuilding a religious tradition that had died out. He was the lone bastion of the Light Side burdened with standing stalwart in the face of threatening Darkness. He was the Jedi who knew in time he might need to battle Darth Sidious. Was Luke as scared as she is now? Did he doubt his abilities like she does from time to time? Did he ever worry that he would fall to the Dark Side in the process of safeguarding the Light? That he would lose all he holds dear because grappling with the galaxy’s many problems would require too many compromises from him? 

Depending who you are, the name Luke Skywalker is either a byword for courage or for infamy. You either honor his ideals or you blame him for the fall of the Empire. He’s the hero or the villain to most in the galaxy. And for those who knew him best—his family—Luke is both. Rey has yet to wrap her head around what that means.

Might Luke have secretly resented his talents? Could he have ever wished he was born a normal person to a normal life? Could that have been part of his motivation for exile—the need to escape from responsibilities that overwhelmed and confounded him? And what did Luke Skywalker really think about the New Republic?

“Luke wasn’t political. He left all that to my mother.”

It’s Ben. The bond has opened. That means he knows what she’s thinking. Great . . . just great. 

Ben looks around at her surroundings and recognizes where she is. “Coruscant. You’re at the site of the old Jedi Temple.”

“It’s a park now.”

“I know. My mother had it dedicated to the memory of all the Jedi killed in the Purge. Supposedly, Vader slaughtered younglings right where you’re sitting.”

“So like Grandfather like Grandson?” she retorts sharply. 

It’s a cheap shot. Rey regrets it as soon she says it. She feels the rush of pain through the bond as Ben recalls briefly the awful moment he lost control at his uncle’s temple and accidentally slaughtered his classmates. Nothing was the same for him after that moment. But it was a far cry from young Darth Vader purposefully striding into the Coruscant Jedi Temple with an army of clonetroopers at his back. Really, there is no comparison between the two men and their respective misdeeds.

“Sorry,” she mutters, looking down. Rey feels her face flush. Ben might have deserved that remark, but she’s better than petty snark. This is the problem with hanging around with him—Ben brings you down to his level.

He changes the topic. “So . . . does this trip mean you returned the droid to Dameron?”

“Yes.”

“And then you came to mull over the old Jedi Order and Uncle Luke afterwards?”

“Yes.” The legacy of Luke Skywalker bedevils them both for different reasons.

Ben peers behind her. “I haven't been there in years. It looks the same.”

“I was hoping I would sense something here . . . that I would learn something,” she attempts to explain. But like the Dark Side cave on Ahch-To, this holy place yields no wisdom. It is completely silent in the Force.

“Luke went questing for knowledge after the Rebellion won. He scoured the galaxy looking for old temples and Jedi artifacts. Yoda and Kenobi were dead by then. There was no one left to teach Luke the ways of the Jedi. In the end, I think my uncle made a lot of it up. I know he felt pressured to come up with answers.”

Rey nods. She understands that feeling.

“He didn’t realize that the absence of knowledge and a teacher were intentional. The ways of the Jedi were lost for a reason. The Force was making it hard for him to reestablish the old ways. But Luke stubbornly did it anyway.”

“Is this the lead up to another ‘let the past die’ speech?” she complains. 

“Am I that predictable?”

“Yes.”

“Are you listening?”

“No.”

He cocks his head at her and squints. “You're not the first person to feel trapped in this life. You know that, right? Part of the appeal of running away with you to balance the Force was to leave all this institutional responsibility behind.”

She shoots him a look. “And here I thought things were going so well at the First Order for Kylo Ren.”

“You're still upset.”

“Oh, so you’ve noticed?” she snaps.

“Traditionally, the Sith are the ones who hold a grudge,” he smirks. “You Jedi are supposed to be the forgiving type.”

His mocking expression causes her frustration to flare. For he’s attempting to use her commitment to Light Side ideals to his own advantage. Is her compassion supposed to excuse his worst excesses? If she fails to forgive him, is she somehow less of a Jedi? Rey rejects all that. The Light is not weak and accepting. The Light is strong and principled. 

But therein lies the problem. For the person she’s having the most trouble forgiving right now is herself. The guilt over yesterday’s disastrous attack is killing her and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Rey decides those people’s deaths belong on her conscience, regardless of the fact that Ben plotted the trap and Finn made the go-ahead decision. That others made mistakes or were wrongdoers doesn’t absolve her of responsibility for her deception.

Ben knows what she’s thinking. “It’s war. People die. It’s not fair. It’s not nice. It’s often random. But it happens. Don’t try to rationalize or moralize it.”

But she does want to rationalize and moralize the galaxy’s conflicts. She wants to fight a just war for a good cause where as few innocent people suffer as possible. But that’s hard to do when your enemy is prepared to use the Starkiller Base superweapon against civilians. Worse still, it’s becoming increasingly hard to distinguish between military targets and noncombatants as Ben enlists citizen mobs for his local insurrections and terror plots. Now every First Order sympathizer is a potential soldier. How will the Republic ever govern this mess?

“People like us . . . we cause a lot of collateral damage . . . “ Ben isn’t looking at her, he’s looking at the old Jedi Temple grounds surrounding her. She knows through the bond he’s thinking of the classmates he killed. For some reason, those comparatively few murders weigh heavily on his conscience years later even after his wartime body count has reached historic numbers. 

“They were my friends,” he explains simply. “I knew them. Plus, they were my first kills.” Not like the nameless, faceless hordes he’s callously killed since. He explains it all by chalking it up to war. Ben reiterates his earlier words now. “It’s war. People die. You don’t have to like it, but you had better get used to it. Compartmentalize, Rey.”

No, she decides. She doesn’t want to cheapen the meaning of life . . . to discount the suffering of the war’s victims and the grief of those who survive to miss them. That Ben has enlisted her as his unwilling spy to further his aims is galling. She’s allowed herself to become an enabler to the most ruthless, most disruptive political force the galaxy has seen since Count Dooku. Kylo Ren is brutally effective with his terrifyingly certain aggression that he uses without hesitation. She has to take a stand against him. For how can she call herself a Jedi if she allows things to continue as they are?

Rey stares down her nemesis through the bond. Her voice is low and slow with intensity, for she means what she says with all her heart. “I will not allow you to manipulate me like this. You are using my desire for balance and my empathy for you to prolong the war and to advance your political agenda. I won’t be your tool!” 

Her vehemence registers with Ben, but he rejects her argument. “That’s not for you to decide.” He gives her the same old line about fate that conveniently excuses his own actions: “The Force controls the bond.” It’s infuriating.

“I have been passive up until now, but no longer! I was trying to be neutral in the war politics and to stay out of the Republic military so I could focus on the Force and the Jedi. But I see now that is not an option. And so, I will oppose you going forward.” She will oppose Ben and the First Order with all her skills and talents. She is a Jedi of the Galactic Republic, the latest in a long line of Light Side knights who pledge to uphold truth, justice, freedom, and democracy. That means she is better than this.

Ben’s smirk is ugly. “Going to confess us to Dameron and the traitor?”

“No. But two can play your game.”

He looks at her blankly.

She demonstrates. “The First Order has only three star destroyers and six dreadnoughts left . . . your fleet is meager but you hide it by positioning civilian transports around the galaxy using military transponders that project the electronic signature of warships . . . when we show up, we find a freighter and assume your ships jumped to safety when in reality they were never present in the first place. Shall I go on?” Rey invites, her face a sneer. 

Ben says nothing, so she resumes. “Your ranking General is a pompous idiot but you like some old Colonel who tells it like it is . . . you’d choke the General but it would be bad for morale and you’re insecure about your leadership. You purport to hate Finn but the truth is that you’re green with jealousy over his charisma and goodwill. Your people respect and fear you, but they don’t admire you and you know they never will. I know you, Ben! I’m inside your head. I know you fear that you will never be as powerful as Darth Vader. I also know that you fear you will never be loved. So when those crowds riot on Rim worlds chanting your name, it fills a deep void in your broken, Dark soul and you know it--”

“That’s enough!” 

Ben gives her the haunted, hunted look she remembers well from long ago on the Starkiller Base when she matched his mental intrusion and turned the tables quite effectively. 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” he rages again.

Rey smiles at his mix of petulance and shock. She’s enjoying this moment immensely. Has it never occurred to him that when the bond lingers open for an hour during a Republic briefing, she sees his own thoughts? Rey might not get to listen in on many important First Order discussions, but she hears the internal monologue of Kylo Ren himself. It reveals all sorts of useful information. 

His thoughts betray him now: _Fuck, she’s good_. _How much does she know?_

“I know a lot!” she crows triumphant. “And now, I’m going to start telling it to the Republic. Where are you now?” she wonders aloud. Rey concentrates hard.

Ben physically winces and reaches a hand to his temple.

“Mygeeto. You’re hiding on the far side of Mygeeto,” she deduces.

_Fuck._ Ben blinks and recovers. 

“Guess I should get on my comlink to Finn,” she threatens.

“I’ll be gone by the time he jumps here.”

“Yes, but I’ll know where you’ll be heading,” she retorts, enjoying holding the advantage at long last. “You were right when you said this bond would keep us together forever,” she gloats. 

“Don’t do this,” he starts to warn.

She cuts him off. “I’m going to use your own tactics against you. All’s fair in love and war, right? No quarter,” she hisses. “When it comes to this bond, there is no quarter, Ben.” She refuses to be his victim any longer. 

_Fuck_. “Don’t do this! Rey, this isn’t--”

  
He never finishes his sentence. The bond abruptly closes.


	19. chapter 19

Turnabout is fair play . . . except the Dark Side doesn’t play fair and it doesn’t like its methods being used against it. Kylo is indignant about Rey’s new posture of opposition. She’s not supposed to do this, but she’s doing it anyway. And damn, if she isn’t good at it. 

When the bond opens now, he has to gird his mental shields. Rey is on alert to sift his mind for information. It becomes a battle of wills each time their minds connect. She’s on offense, he’s on defense. It requires maximum concentration.

But the bond keeps opening, giving them both access to valuable information. Kylo has no doubt that Rey is sharing all she learns with the Republic. It results in more complications and challenges. He no longer has his enemy at a complete disadvantage. If anything, they have him on the run—quite literally. For the cat-and-mouse game with the Republic fleet gets tricky when your estranged girlfriend knows where you are. His flagship jumps multiple times a day now. He’s rarely entirely sure where he is at any given time. That’s mostly by design. But thanks to Rey, the Republic is wise to the true limitations of his resources. They now know that they have him vastly outnumbered.

He solves the problem the same way he is solving other problems—by enlisting popular support. The game is up for hiding the true meager state of his fleet. But the game is not up for hiding his fleet. ‘Catch me if you can’ is his cheeky response on the holonet as his people hand out even more First Order transponders to everyday citizens. Now, there are thousands of personal spacecrafts, cargo transports, and even commercial passenger vehicles crisscrossing the galaxy ostensibly posing as First Order warships. The real warships get lost amid the throng.

So, when the Republic arrives to attack what it believes to be Snoke’s behemoth craft that was repaired after Crait, it catches instead a wealthy Rim family heading out on vacation in their small cruiser. The wife records her husband being confronted by a Republic boarding party as troops ransack the family’s ship.

“Who are you?” a Republic officer demands.

“Welcome aboard,” the surly middle-aged human husband snarls in a broad Rim twang as he holds his hands up.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Kylo Ren,” the captive man smirks defiantly as the wife behind the camera gasps. 

The moment goes viral on the holonet. Later, the man is identified as the son of an exiled Imperial regional governor. Naturally, he has First Order sympathies.

Days later, the Republic captures a freighter full of industrial scrap. This time, the Republic’s frustrated representatives confront the freighter’s salty captain, a much-displeased Trandoshan spacer.

“Who are you? Why do you have a military grade transponder on this craft?”

The alien answers with fluent profanity.

“Watch your mouth, lizard man!” Someone shoves a blaster to the Trandoshan’s temple as an off-camera voice demands, “Who are you? Start talking!”

“Can’t you tell?” the green-skinned spacer drawls in perfect Basic. “I’m fucking Kylo Ren.” Then, he tells the Republic officer exactly where he can go.

That recording goes viral as well.

Every few days a new account of an ugly confrontation surfaces. First, the Republic captures a school bus transport with the electronic signature of a TIE fighter. Next, they waylay a passenger ship full of retirees they erroneously believe to be a star destroyer. Each time, a frustrated and chagrined Republic officer asks for identification and an explanation. The answers are all a variation of the same theme: “I’m Kylo Ren” or “I’m the First Order.” Kylo’s personal favorite is the toothless old lady who is forced to her knees in handcuffs. She gleefully croaks, “I’m Kylo Ren’s girlfriend” to her heavy-handed interrogators. He’s so tickled by the old broad’s insouciance that he has his people track her down and send her flowers compliments of the Supreme Leader.

There aren’t many of these incidents—the Republic gets wise to the bad optics of detaining civilians, including wailing women and screaming children. They keep chasing fake transponders but stop confronting transports that are obviously not military. But the damage is done. The few widely reported incidents get the public’s attention. Many in the Rim now truly believe that the Republic is waging war against Rim citizens. Naturally, Kylo stokes the perception to maximize the paranoia. 

Moreover, he starts using actual civilian ships to disguise First Order troop and equipment movements. He will take full advantage of the Republic’s hands-off policy for ostensibly civilian craft. It amuses him to no end that he’s smuggling his war machine across the galaxy. _Are you proud of your son now, Han Solo?_

Still, the First Order continues to have supply issues. The Republic has figured out—probably thanks to Rey—that their recurrent minor theft problem is courtesy of the enemy. Fortunately, these days, Kylo has the credits to pay for his equipment. The issue is that the Republic is terrorizing his Rim-based suppliers, patrolling them and even occupying their warehouses to ensure the First Order shipments are held up. Sell to the First Order and we’ll arrest you, the Republic threatens. It forces Kylo to steal from his own local factories and refineries. 

It’s an inside job, of course. The First Order swoops in to collect their materials when someone ‘accidentally’ lowers the shield gate or the surveillance system ‘malfunctions.’ The onsite workers are shocked—shocked!—by the security breach. They stand in disbelief as the First Order helps itself to what they need. And if a few days later, payment in full through an anonymous credit transfer arrives to the supplier’s bank account, the Republic is none the wiser. Still, it’s a lot of hassle Kylo would rather not go through for routine deliveries. 

Oddly enough, all these improvised workarounds give him respect and a certain folkhero status among his people. Kylo didn’t set out to become a bandit aided and abetted with a wink and a nod by his people, often one precarious step ahead of his pursuers. But like it or not, that’s what he is now. Kylo feels sheepishly more and more like his ‘seat of his pants’ father, getting in and out of jams left and right as he stumbles forward bluffing the Republic every chance he gets. This is definitely not how Snoke or Palpatine fought wars, but it’s the best he can do in the situation he finds himself in. 

Kylo feels like he ought to be sitting on a throne somewhere in a darkened room, drawing out his syllables with evil relish as he tortures underlings with Force lightning and makes grand pronouncements. But in truth, his days are random and chaotic as he reacts in the moment to the latest challenges. A proper Sith would be much more in control, he knows. Things would be planned out and he would sit back content to watch them unfold. But instead, he bounces from crisis to crisis as a very hands-on leader. 

He’s also given up all pretense of anonymity and remoteness. First, he lost the mask. Then, he lost his reticence for public appearances. Leader Ren is his own man now, not Snoke’s creation and Sidious’ puppet. He’s on the holonet in a short video once a week communicating to his supporters. Kylo worries that he’s becoming too visible, but the PR types love it. This isn’t your grandfather’s Empire led by a reclusive ghoul in a cloak. This the Empire of the future led by a modern, dynamic leader who communicates directly to his people . . . if a little tersely. 

But to win an Empire, he has to win the war. That means he needs to thwart Rey’s determined efforts. After a few weeks of mental jousting across the bond, Kylo decides that he’s tired of playing defense. Time to put Rey on the hot seat. What makes her most uncomfortable and embarrassed? Two things: Jakku and sex. He’ll skip Jakku—that wasn’t her fault. But their tryst on the _Falcon_ when she dumped him the next morning? Well, that’s fair game. 

And so, the next time the bond opens, he begins a rather detailed daydream of his body thrusting deep into hers. She is naked beneath him. Her head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open and panting. He heaves and she follows with him, her head moving back and forth on the pillow. The only sound is his efforts and her soft grunting. 

Through the bond, he watches as Rey’s face grows pale and then pink. She looks stunned. 

_You were so beautiful that night. I can’t wait to have you again, wife._

He’s ratcheting up the provocation. As expected, she falls for it.

_I’m not your wife!_

_We are joined by the Force for forever. What god has joined together, let no man put asunder._

_I am not your wife!_

_Secret marriages are a Skywalker thing. Don’t worry. I won’t tell if you won’t tell, Jedi . . . but you are most definitely attached._

The ploy works. Rey is so shocked that she recoils from his mind. She’s too outraged, embarrassed and livid to concentrate on her mental intrusion. The tactic works so well that it becomes his pastime. The bond opens and Kylo begins to indulge in lurid fantasy. Sometimes, it’s wholesome. He’s making love to Rey in his quarters by starlight. It’s a sensual, mostly vague depiction of a languid romantic encounter. Other times, it’s raunchy. Rey is on her knees in handcuffs sucking his dick. They’re not done until she swallows. And just to piss her off completely, he imagines Rey wearing that pink dress the whole time. 

_I’ll bite you!_

She would, too.

_I’ll bite you!_

Kylo just smirks. He shifts the fantasy setting and now she’s pleasuring him as he sits on the Dark throne. Is she getting this? She is. Rey looks like she wants to explode. 

This is fun, he decides. 

One day, his daydream recalls the moment they touched hands in the Force. What if Uncle Luke hadn’t cockblocked them? What if things had gone further? Can you have sex through the Force? Well, why not? It’s a fantasy, after all. Kylo decides that things would definitely be going down in that hut . . . And whoa! Kylo senses that this is not a new topic for Rey. He sees in her mind that she’s thought about this. Excellent. She’s always been far less indifferent to him than she lets on. 

_Show me your fantasy._

_No!_

_Come on. Let me see._

_I’ve never thought about it._

_Liar!_

Exchanges like that are pretty much how things persist when the bond opens. Rey mostly ignores him, looking mortified and occasionally bored. He gets as much intelligence as he can while trying to distract her with fantasies of them in bed together. He and Rey don’t have real conversations. They don’t get the chance since the bond opens exclusively when they are around others. It no longer opens daily either. It’s more like every few days, usually in the morning. 

Does the Force know they need a cooling off period? Perhaps.

Kylo refuses to get discouraged. He and Rey were never going to be a normal couple. So what if they fight? All couples fight. It’s fine. He will cut Rey some slack and be patient with her opposition. He knows she’s swayed by his arguments about the Force. She has plenty of misgivings about the Republic as well, he’s learned. So, he eases off his high-pressure tactics. He will let things play out. Fortunately, the Republic seems to have abandoned its assassination efforts for the present. For whatever reason, they are focused on beating him by conventional warfare these days.

He also reminds himself that Rey is very young to be thrust into her role. Hell, he himself feels at least ten years too young to be ruling the First Order. Plus, Rey is still so new to her power. She didn’t grow up acclimating to her Force like he did. Great power takes getting used to. He knows from being inside Rey’s head that her abilities compound her sense of otherness. She intimidates people and it isolates her. His lonely girl is surrounded by people and yet she doesn’t seem particularly close to anyone but the traitor general. She’s always so alone, which Kylo knows is her biggest fear.

But there’s nothing he can do about it now, so he soldiers on fighting his war. It’s a war of ships and lasers, but also a war of words. He’s fighting the enemy on the holonet just as zealously as he fights in space and on land. Fortunately, the Republic keeps playing into his hands. Those idiots on Coruscant are conveniently full of righteous arrogance.

It is an all-too-common mistake to dismiss your political opponents as stupid because you disagree with them. But that sort of hubris catches up with you in the end. Call them wrong, call them misguided, call them misinformed, even call them evil . . . but don’t call them stupid. Not if you ever hope to eventually woo their supporters to your side. It’s a mistake the Republic keeps making in the Rim, but it’s a lesson Kylo Ren learned young from his politician mother.

  
  
Few on the Republic side recognize that legacy, however. The Core press fixates on his family relationship to his grandfather and to his uncle. Leader Ren is the Skywalker scion gone tragically bad following Darth Vader’s example. He is the secret shame that sent the legendary Jedi Luke Skywalker into exile. And while that’s all true, it causes most to overlook that he is also Leia Organa’s son. Maybe that’s because his mother was a Resistance General in her later years and no longer a New Republic Senate power player. But in his formative years before he was sent away for Jedi training, Ben Solo was a Senator’s son in Coruscant. He grew up steeped in democracy. Why is that relevant? Because Kylo Ren knows politics.

  
  
The First Order civilian politicos delight in it. Tired of years of being shunted aside in favor of the military, they find a keenly interested and receptive ear in Leader Ren. He demands weekly briefings on their efforts. 

  
  
“Will I be on the ballot?” he wants to know. The First Order’s current political strategy is twofold. First, delegitimize the upcoming elections, making a mockery of the democratic process. Second, elect as many First Order candidates as possible, including himself. Because why not? If the Republic Senate was good enough for Sheev Palpatine, it’s good enough for him. Besides, his mother and grandmother were Senators. Elections are as much a family tradition as lightsabers and Death Stars, he jokes.

  
  
No one laughs. They’re too afraid.

“Leader, Sir, you wouldn’t actually accept a Senate seat, would you?” his political director looks askance at the mere mention of the idea.

  
  
“Chancellor Ren has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” he muses.

  
  
No one so much as smiles.

  
  
Kylo continues unabated. “My mother never got her Chancellorship. The politically inconvenient truth about her father ended her Senate career abruptly. Think of the irony of Chancellor Ren leading the Republic.”

The room is silent. 

  
  
“So . . . we would destroy the Republic from within, if need be?” someone finally speaks up.

  
  
“It won’t come to that.”

  
  
All around him, people exhale with clear relief.

  
  
His political director reminds him again, “Sir, the Republic still hasn’t determined whether First Order candidates are eligible for the ballot.”

  
  
He shrugs. “Of course, not. They’re dragging their feet before they decide to allow it at the eleventh hour. Then, they will announce with great fanfare and magnanimity that we are included in the election process, hoping that it’s already too late for us to mount effective campaigns to win.”

  
  
“Yes, Sir. That’s what we expect.”

  
  
“So start the campaigns now. Dare them to deny us our candidates. Proceed upon the presumption that we are welcome. We will either win at the ballot box or win when we force them to exclude us. Then, we will have irrefutable proof that the Republic’s democracy is a lie.”

  
  
There are nods around the room endorsing that view, but his political director squirms. “Sir, that may be harder to pull off than we believe.”

  
  
“Why?”

  
  
“Because their strategy is to silence us.”

  
  
Kylo’s eyes narrow. “Tell me more.”

  
  
“Sir, ever since Hosnia, the Core media has been ‘de-platforming’ our media sympathizers quietly.”

“What does that mean in Basic?” Kylo tires of all this jargon. 

“It means our friends are being cancelled, so to speak. Banned from reputable media outlets. Muzzled on social media. Shut out of public discourse. It’s a virtual purge of our holonet presence to censor what the Republic calls violent rhetoric and disinformation.”

He nods. “I understand.”

“Well, they’ve started doing it to average ordinary citizens now. Sir, these aren’t contrarian intellectuals who are mouthpieces to the public at large. These are individuals who talk to tens, maybe hundreds of friends, business contacts, and family members. They’re not professional writers or thinkers, but they’re getting banned and cancelled as well.”

Someone volunteers, “My uncle got banned from the holonet because he liked and shared a post that was alleged to be fake news.”

“Exactly,” his political director jumps in. “They’re calling it a means to restrict false and misleading rumors, but it’s basically an attempt to keep our information from being disseminated. That clip of the old lady you sent flowers to crying on camera that was so affecting? We think that was the last straw. The Republic hates testimonials of our people in their own words going viral.”

“Do I care?” He looks to his experts. “Does it matter if someone can’t post a picture of their First Order birthday cake on the holonet?”

“It could get worse, Sir. There are rumors the Republic will go beyond de-platforming individuals. Now, there is talk they will eliminate the platforms themselves.”

He scoffs, “You can’t shut down the holonet.”

“No, but you can disband social media on Rim worlds and suspend accounts.”

He surmises where all this is going. “They’re muzzling us in advance of the election . . . “

“Yes. It’s not the Republic acting directly. It’s their friends in big media and big tech.”

“They are one and the same,” someone grumbles aloud what everyone else is thinking. 

His political director has a strategic mind that Kylo values. The man observes sourly, “This is a remarkably self-destructive move from professions dependent on freedom of speech, but the journalists now dominating newsrooms and the moguls controlling boardrooms aren’t thinking long-term. I’m sure they can’t imagine being censored themselves.” 

“Not until we make the rules,” a voice from across the room grumbles to a chorus of concurring nods.

“Fine. Let’s make our own platforms,” Kylo suggests his latest workaround. “How hard can it be? Don’t we have some software tech types who can help us?”

“We’re on it,” his political director confirms. “We also have some free speech allies in the Core still. Not many, but some.”

“Good. Rally them to take a stand against the Republic’s liberal orthodoxy. Rigidly enforced conformity is hardly the marketplace of ideas that fuels a healthy democracy.”

That comment makes his political guy smile. “You certainly have the lingo down, Sir.”

Kylo grunts. “I know more about democracy than anyone in this room. It’s why I quit it.”

“Yes, Sir. And may I say, Sir, how much we appreciate that fact? We . . . uh . . . had to explain to a General last week what ‘woke’ meant. He’d never heard of the term.”

“That was probably a point of pride for him,” Kylo guesses. “But there is value in understanding your enemy and their biases.”

“What’s to understand?” A young woman in the front of the room speaks up. “They hate us.”

It’s true. But time for some self-awareness. “The Core press has created a caricature of who we are. It’s Armitage Hux screaming speeches, bizarre Snoke in his golden bathrobe, and me with the Force, the sword, and mask. We are unreasonable, threatening killers in their view. Some of that is true, but it’s not all we are.”

“Their stereotypes limit us . . . ” the young woman wisely observes. 

He agrees. “They marginalize us. There is no need to engage in serious political discourse with raving lunatics. That’s who we are to the average citizen of the Republic—violent extremists to fear and to kill. Hosnia might have advanced our military objectives, but it was an enormous setback for our political goals.”

“Er . . . uh . . . you said it, Sir, not us,” the political director chimes in. 

Weirdly, moments like this make him feel like his mother’s son. But Kylo keeps warming to his theme. “The construction of identity is bound up with the disposition of power and powerlessness in each society . . . or so wrote Count Dooku.” And whoops, he just got too intellectual for the First Order. Everyone blinks at him. Apparently, no one present has read Dooku’s writings on the Confederacy of Independent States. The Count was known as a political idealist to many initially based on those essays. It was only after Dooku fought a bloody civil war that anyone took him seriously. But those writings are a masterful critique of the Old Republic. That they aren’t required reading for every member of the First Order is an oversight Kylo now chalks up to Snoke aka Darth Sidious not wanting to focus attention on his former Apprentice. 

His stumped political director ventures, “What does that mean, Sir?”

“It means that despite a hundred years of evolving political unrest in the Rim, the dominance of the Core continues. It’s in part because the Core’s way of seeing us justifies their ongoing system of social and economic domination. When we win—and we will win—the Core will have to adjust to a post-colonial galaxy,” Kylo threatens ominously.

“In the meantime, Sir—“

“In the meantime, they may drive us underground onto new media outlets, but they won’t muzzle us. All their rhetoric rings hollow when you see how afraid they are of free speech. They know our ideas have appeal and merit. It’s why they want to quash us. They fear what they cannot control,” Kylo observes in his best Sith Master voice.

That sort of Dark resolve is just what these politicos needs to hear. “We’re on it, Sir.”

“Good. And do we still think Dameron is running for Senate?”

“He filed paperwork for a fundraising committee on Coruscant this week. Assuming he wins, he will be a top contender to replace the temporary Chancellor.”

Kylo scowls, thinking how his dead mother would be proud. Dameron was her protégée in the Resistance. The hero son she wanted but didn’t get. And now, Dameron will be the defender of democracy just like she herself once was. 

Time to discredit him. “Make sure to give a hefty anonymous donation to Dameron’s campaign. Give the maximum credits the law will allow.”

His political director blinks. “Sir? We want him to win?”

Kylo shrugs. “The devil we know is better than the devil we don’t,” he reasons. “And think of the scandal when we reveal that we are his largest campaign donor.” It’s not the same as being revealed to be Darth Vader’s daughter, but it’s something. 

Enough politics for today. He dismisses the meeting and heads for the bridge of his star destroyer to turn his attention back to war with the Republic. Standing at the helm of a great ship, he ought to feel very Darth Vader. But his task of evading capture is more akin to his spice smuggler father’s line of work. Yesterday, he ducked behind an asteroid field to avoid detection, which is just what Han Solo would have done in the circumstance.

Kylo wonders if all his experiences have led him to this point. If the Force always intended that his Senator mother and his criminal father rear him with their respective examples. For so long, his Jedi uncle played such an outsized role in his fate that it overshadowed others. But Kylo sees now that he has failed to appreciate his parents’ contributions to his formative years. He is the sum of all those who came before him, for better or for worse. All day, every day now, he acts and reacts against that past in order to forge the future. For a long time, he labored under the long shadow cast by his fearsome clan. And also, under the aegis of his surreptitious Dark Master Darth Sidious. But no more. These days, he is his own man. Dark, but with a purpose more than himself. It’s not Light exactly. But it’s something close. 

And so, one day as he makes a risky impromptu trip behind enemy lines down to the surface of an occupied world, he sees the graffiti words ‘I am Kylo Ren’ sprayed on the side of a building. It’s an act of defiance against the hated Republic occupiers. It’s also tangible proof that he—the erstwhile Obi-Wan Skywalker Organa Solo, Prince of doomed Alderaan, fallen Jedi Padawan, unwitting Sith Apprentice, and lately Supreme Leader Kylo Ren--has stoked something very real and very powerful out here on the edge of the known galaxy: hope.

Hope was his mother’s cliché topic. She loved to wax on about hope in her Senate speeches. Kylo suspects now that all those words were as much a pep talk to herself as to the galaxy. She and Luke must have known that Darth Sidious was out there somewhere, biding his time for a comeback. And now, years later, he’s doing the same: preaching hope for a better future to anyone who will follow him. His mother staked a firm claim to hope on the Light Side of the Force. Hope fit squarely into her good/evil understanding of the universe. So what would Leia Organa say to talk of hope coming from the Dark Side and the First Order? Kylo doesn’t know, and he’s not sure he cares. He’s done with arbitrary delineations of Dark and Light, good and bad, Jedi and Sith. To Hell with all that.

If only Rey could be convinced of that view . . . He hates how things are between them now. But it is a problem partly of his own making, he recognizes. He tries to convince her to step out of her meetings to have a private conversation with him across the bond. She refuses. Apparently, Rey is more wary of a real conversation with him than she is worried for protecting the Republic’s secrets. That makes no sense to him.

So at night as he meditates in bed—a leftover habit from his Jedi days—he tries to initiate the bond. If he could just control the bond and compel it to open, he and Rey could talk at will. But the Force refuses to grant his wish. His efforts go to waste. 

Still, that night he dreams of Rey. She’s afraid and angry, pressured and unhappy. He sees his girl crying looking like she did on Jakku when he met her with the droid. She’s standing alone on a sandbank thinking she has come so far only to end up back where she started. Rey cries even harder now. She wishes she never helped that droid in the desert. She wishes she didn’t have the Force. And that’s when the gist of the dream finally dawns on him: in his dream, Rey has exiled herself.

Kylo awakes concerned. Has he gone overboard with his antics? The next time the bond opens, he stares at Rey, worrying. She looks the same as usual with her scraped back hair and glowering expression. And maybe she does look a little tired and sad, he notes, taking in the faint shadows under her eyes. 

_Are you alright?_

_I’m fine._

Kylo sucks it up and attempts an apology. _I’ve been a little_ . . . A little lewd? Well, a lot lewd. As he struggles to find the words to communicate that he fully recognizes what a dick he’s been, Rey responds.

_I’m fine. It’s fine. I don’t care what you think or what you do._

Ouch. That stings.

_I only care that you lose this war._

_I care about you._

_No, you don't. You care about the Force and you care about yourself . . . and I guess you care about your cause. But you don’t care about me._

_That’s not true!_

Just then, a voice from within Rey’s setting asks, “Rey, what do you think?”

She’s caught up in their telepathic communication that everyone surrounding her is completely oblivious to. Kylo watches his girl blush and stammer. “I’m sorry. I was . . . er . . . someplace else. Could you repeat the question?”

Rey turns her attention back to the room she’s in. The bond remains open a while longer, but the moment between them is lost. Rey refuses to engage with him further. Once again, he is relegated to the silent treatment. Kylo resigns himself back to their status quo.

The weeks keep ticking by fast. Overall, his leadership seems to be working. The First Order military manages to stay alive mostly thanks to Plagueis’ credits, a lot of subterfuge, and Kylo’s refusal to get drawn into any climactic battle. On the occupied worlds, his people are finally getting organized to foster widespread civil unrest. The holonet is full of pictures of fiery riots and violent protest marches. Every few days, there is another terrorist style attack on the Republic invaders. How long until the Core worlds openly wonder whether their tax dollars are worth all this effort? That’s when Kylo will know the tide of the war is truly turning.

But even now, there’s no way Dameron and the traitor FN-2187 can credibly contend that the war is over and the Republic has won. Anyone can see that the First Order is still very much a threat. The Republic cannot claim to control the Rim systems. No one believes that free and fair elections are possible in the near term. The galaxy is as much as mess as it has ever been, and that’s all thanks to him. In the course of a little over six months, Kylo has turned things around. It is a remarkable comeback story for the history books. But it’s not winning . . . not yet, at least. 

What does victory look like? Kylo starts brooding over his endgame. He must liberate his occupied worlds and kick the Republic out of the Rim, for certain. But does he need to rule the whole galaxy? Can there be victory if the Republic remains in existence? Might he want the Republic to remain as a foe? And can there be victory without Rey? 

He’s so consumed with his war that at first he doesn’t notice when a week goes by and the bond hasn’t opened. It’s not unusual for three or four days to pass before the bond connects him with Rey. But a week is unprecedented. Worse still, the silence in the bond continues. When two weeks have passed, Kylo is concerned. Has something happened to Rey? Surely, the Force would tell him if she were hurt or dead. Then, the sneaking suspicion dawns that perhaps she has learned to subvert the bond. Is that even possible for a dyad? Or, does the Force just really think they need some time apart?

What’s going on with Rey? He frets in private over the matter. Few on his staff would believe it, but Kylo Ren is a worrier. He might project a veneer of ‘I can handle anything’ confidence as a wartime leader, but for things—especially people— who truly matter to him, he can fret obsessively. Where is Rey? Is she okay? He starts saying nightly prayers to the Force to protect her.

The riddle of ‘where is Rey’ is answered at last when the bond opens. He’s in a meeting surrounded by underlings when he feels the tickle in the back of his mind that presages their special connection. He’s so surprised and delighted that he jumps up from the table he’s sitting at and says her name aloud. “Rey!” And damn, if he doesn’t have to suppress a smile quickly before his commanders see it. Everyone knows Leader Ren does not smile. Fortunately, this connection has happened often enough over the past few months that everyone in the room knows what’s going on. Their fearless leader is talking in the Force to the Republic Jedi who is really their secret spy and Sheev Palpatine’s granddaughter. 

Kylo plays it cool, but inwardly he could faint with relief. Rey is shown in profile, standing tall atop a sand dune with her pretty face lifted towards the red glow of a setting sun. She’s in full-on scavenger mode, complete with dirty arm wraps and tank top. She’s even wearing that goofy trio of hair buns he remembers. It’s a little girl’s hairstyle worn on a grown woman, which makes it somehow endearing. Rey’s skin is noticeably more tanned than usual, which betrays that this trip to the desert is not recent. It makes him frown.

He is immediately reminded of his dream weeks ago of Rey on Jakku in exile. That was no random dream, he now realizes. It was a premonition. A little seductive peek behind the veil of the Cosmic Force to prepare him for what is to come. And also, a warning not to interfere. For woe be unto any student of the Force who attempts to alter fate. The Force shows you the future so that you can begin to accept it. It’s a test of faith. You must resist the temptation to try to change things, lest terrible punishment await.

Kylo gulps and squints at her. “Where are you? Is that Tatooine? Or is it Jakku?” _Please say Tatooine._

Rey doesn’t answer. It’s more silent treatment.

Irked, he marches across the room to see her from a different angle, hoping to divine more information. And look . . . there’s a wrecked Imperial star destroyer poking out of the sand before her. It’s a telltale apocalyptic landscape. Kylo pouts his displeasure. “Jakku. I recognize that junkyard.” That planet gives him the creeps. Why does anyone want to go back to Jakku? Especially her of all people.

Rey speaks now, even though she still refuses to look at him. “I grew up where the old Empire died. I don’t think that’s a coincidence, do you?”

Who cares? “What are you doing on Jakku? I hate that you’re back there.”

“It’s my home.”

“It’s not. Go back to the Republic.”

She’s still staring straight ahead at that enormous downed ship, pointedly shunning him. Through the bond he is picking up seething hostility. That’s not a surprise, really. But it is disappointing.

He tries again, softening his voice of command to a request. “Rey, please go back.” 

She sneers, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. For starters, the Republic has running water and electricity. That place is a wasteland.” Jakku is nothing but decaying ship skeletons and sand. He wants better for her than that. Plus, that shithole world is dangerous in ways that having the Force can’t compensate for—like dehydration, heat, and starvation.

“This is my home . . . I wanted to go home,” she contends, sounding very much like a child. “I may not be able to hide from you, but here I can keep you from making me betray my friends.”

“You left the Republic because of me?”

Apparently, so. “I will not let you manipulate me any longer!” she thunders. 

Oh. Okay. “Good.” Rey leaving the Republic is actually a positive development. He brightens. Maybe he is wrong to be so concerned. Maybe this isn’t exile, but instead her attempt to find neutral territory on a backwater world amid a galaxy at war. It’s just that he’s getting all sorts of weird vibes from Rey currently . . . Dark vibes. But at least, they are talking. 

She crows, “I told Poe that you want to run for Senate. I saw it in your mind. If they let you run, are you going to command your people to vote for you?” 

He crosses his arms and brags. “That won’t be necessary. I’m shockingly popular these days.” It’s a new feeling to have people actually like him.

“Even though the mere mention of your name gets people banned from the holonet?”

He shrugs. “The Republic’s overreach has done more to unify our cause than to hurt us.”

“I didn't like that solution,” she concedes. “I told them I disagreed. But there are no easy answers during wartime.”

“No,” Kylo allows. “But it doesn’t take a political genius to recognize that silencing public debate does nothing to further the appeal of democracy. Cancel culture and blacklists are supposed to be our sort of thing. We’re the ones who round up dissidents.” 

Lately, it’s like the two sides of the war have switched places. The fascist authoritarian First Order is using Rebellion-era tactics while the liberal democratic Republic is busy quashing sedition. Truly, it is bizarre how things have unfolded. This war has each side twisting over and backwards on themselves, morphing the First Order into a ragtag band of freedom fighters and placing the Republic in the role of aggressor and occupier in the name of peacekeeping and law and order.

He can sense Rey’s defensiveness. “Poe says we’re fighting you on your own terms.” 

Kylo smirks. “In other words, Darkness wins.”

That crack gets her attention. Rey’s head snaps to the side and her eyes meet his. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” she hisses. 

Rey tosses her head and extends her right arm. Through the bond, Kylo feels her sudden, intense concentration and anger . . . so much anger. Rey’s using the quick and easy path to power. It isn’t the Jedi way, but Darkness is effective. Kylo would never admit it, but he impressed at how quickly she slips into the Shadow Force. 

What is she doing?

Does she even know what she is doing?

Rey’s face contorts as she struggles and strives. Her outstretched hand trembles. His girl has so much talent and so little knowledge. But mostly, right now she has anger. It churns hot and vehement as it channels deep into power. It’s a very familiar sensation as he lives her emotions simultaneously through their mental connection. 

What is she doing?? 

Surely, his Jedi girl doesn’t know what she’s doing??

There is a rushing, roaring, creaking, groaning sound audible over the bond. Kylo stalks further around the room he’s in to get a better look. What he sees makes his jaw drop.

“Fuck . . . ” 

Rey has just levitated that wrecked star destroyer she’s standing beside with the Force. Size matters not . . . well, sort of. Because that’s a star destroyer not some TIE fighter. Fuck, who is he kidding? That’s an epic feat. Moreover, Rey doesn’t look like she’s even breaking a sweat in the desert heat doing it.

He is impressed . . . and a little intimidated.

“I could do that.” He could totally do that . . . he hopes. “I could do that.”

Rey holds the massive capital ship aloft slightly before she lets it fall. The crash sends a cloud of sand and debris flying up as decades old brittle metal snaps on impact. It obscures everything for several moments. 

“Rey? Rey, are you okay?” He peers through the haze. “REY!” Did his showoff girlfriend just drop a star destroyer on her head? Surely the Force wouldn’t let things end like THAT.

He’s worried, but he needn't be. For as the dust settles, Rey is revealed to be standing tall unharmed. Looking smugly satisfied with herself, she drags a hand across her face to wipe away grime that has settled. It focuses him on a new and unwelcome development. “Oh, no . . . No, Rey, no . . . ” he mutters as his relief instantly dissipates.

She has yellow eyes. Bloodshot and red rimmed. They are the physical manifestation of Darkness run rampant, of anger unchecked and despair triumphant.

He’s horrified. “Stay there! I’m coming!”


	20. chapter 20

_He’s winning_.

Finally, someone has the guts to say it aloud in an open meeting: Kylo Ren and the First Order are winning.

A little more than six months after Ben’s unexplained dramatic return to power, the tide of war has shifted. The Republic leadership will never admit it publicly, of course. But muttered comments off the record between colleagues in hallways and over lunch finally are spoken behind closed doors in an open meeting setting. There is a moment as every looks around at one another warily. Then, the room erupts in voices speaking simultaneously. Everyone has a different explanation for why it has occurred and how to fix it. But everyone agrees that Kylo Ren is winning, and it’s terrifying.

He lacks Snoke’s Starkiller Base and Darth Sidious’ Final Order armada. But the damage from those weapons has already been inflicted. Hosnia is gone along with the Republic fleet, and the remaining Resistance and Republic military assets are limited. It’s why the Battle of Exogol had to be fought with a mostly volunteer civilian force that has since disbanded. Under the leadership of Kylo Ren, what’s left of the First Order has turned out to be a formidable opponent against the diminished Republic military. 

It seems hard to recall, but just six months ago victory appeared to be merely a cleanup operation. Planning for elections within a year seemed doable. But now, Kylo Ren is ambushing Republic convoys weekly to devastating results. The individual raids are small and quick, but the results add up. The small Republic fleet is down by a third in four months despite the absence of any big battle. Efforts to cut off the First Order supply lines and hyperspace routes have been a miserable failure. The enemy is simply too nimble—it adapts immediately to the change in circumstances and finds alternatives. Thus far, the Republic has only succeeded in locating one of their hidden base locations, and it was already abandoned. Again and again, the Republic’s missions fail. What few victories they achieve have no lasting consequences. Most importantly, no one seems to be able to catch Kylo Ren. Already, he has easily evaded two assassination attempts. Once a week, he’s on the holonet rallying his supporters and throwing shade at the Republic. It’s galling.

Meanwhile, the Rim worlds are plagued with civil unrest and the entrenched First Order seems more popular than ever. No one thinks there’s any real possibility of a stormtrooper revolt now that the fighting men and women of the First Order are heralded as local heroes. Selfies with stormtrooper friends and relatives are a perpetually trending topic on the holonet, despite attempts to suppress those images. For the populist First Order loves to crow that they are fighting the war for the everyman Rim citizens. That Kylo Ren uses troopers as cannon fodder seems to get lost in the narrative. Memorials for dead soldiers killed in action become local rallying cries for dissidents. People take to the streets for massive funeral processions honoring the fallen as First Order firebrands whip the crowd into an aggrieved frenzy. Riots tend to follow. 

As Rey feared, the Republic’s strategy to dismantle the First Order’s local civic infrastructure has been a disaster. If anything, the First Order’s thrall for local communities seems more robust than ever. Because when the Republic moves in to shut down health clinics, community centers, and food banks, it radicalizes even heretofore apolitical citizens who depend on those resources. They might have paid mere lip service to the First Order rhetoric before, but they hate the Republic now, and that matters. And still . . . in back alleys, out of family garages, from the trunks of speeders, and from behind closed doors . . . communicated by word of mouth, by comlink text blasts, and on temporary apps using messages that quickly disappear . . . First Order humanitarian relief, medical treatment, and credits keep flowing. For like all mafias, cults, and cartels, the Rim fascists zealously tend to their own. They offer protection and win loyalty even as they also demand devotion to their us-versus-them cause. Some of us are family, their underground social welfare says silently; the rest are infidels. Take this food/credits/assistance and go do your part to topple the Republic. 

General Finn is very frustrated about the situation. He is losing ship after ship and ceding control of strategic systems and cross-galaxy hyperspace lanes at an alarming rate. Even worse, there is a lot of unconfirmed enemy chatter about the First Order taking the war to the Core. Is it a bluff? No one is sure. A lot of the First Order military strategy involves deliberate misdirection. But still . . . that risk has everyone spooked. The Core systems are fine to fight a war lightyears away to protect their access to raw materials and cheap labor. But no one wants the war close to home where their own systems are at risk. The example of Hosnia is still very fresh in everyone’s minds. No one doubts that Kylo Ren and the First Order will stop at nothing to get what they want.

Back on Coruscant, Poe is worried. His relationship with the new temporary Chancellor is testy at best. But the only way to get rid of her is to hold elections, convene a new Senate, and elect her replacement. That seems a far-off prospect now with many Rim systems in semi-open revolt. The Republic was supposed to be liberating those planets, but somehow they have been miscast in the role of invaders. How did this happen? Poe is flabbergasted at how the Rim continues to fall prey to fascist charlatans generation after generation. Why don’t these people want freedom? What’s not to like about democracy? Poe doesn’t get it and he never will, Rey fears. Someone shows him the First Order’s latest trending holonet hashtag #Rimlivesmatter and he swears. 

Naturally, all the growing concern prompts a lot of soul searching and frank conversations. And that puts Rey on the hot seat since as a Jedi, she’s viewed as the Republic’s best chance to bring Kylo Ren to justice. She enthusiastically does her part eavesdropping on Ben’s mind. She pulls all sorts of information that she relays to her colleagues. How does she know? The Force told her, Rey answers. But it’s not enough. Ben knows what she’s doing and he begins to employ strategies to deter and mislead her. His habit of indulging in sexual fantasies is especially irksome. In the end, not all of what Rey tells the Republic turns out to be correct. She is embarrassed on occasion as a result. For she too falls prey to the First Order’s misinformation campaign.

But since the Force bond is a reciprocal connection, Ben is in her mind every bit as much as she is in his. Unfortunately, he’s got a lot more experience than she does messing with people’s minds. That makes him particularly hard to resist. Ben keeps plucking important mission details and rendezvous points from her subconsciousness. It means Rey continues to act as his unwilling embedded spy. Many lives are lost as a consequence. It piles on more guilt. Rey cries about it behind closed doors where no one can see.

Poe and Finn separately take her aside to demand that she help plan another assassination attempt. She refuses, and both times it gets heated. What will killing Ren achieve, she challenges. The problems in the Rim are more than mere rhetoric. Killing Ren won’t solve them. Finn tells her she’s being foolish and selfish. Poe outright accuses her of being disloyal. And truthfully, she is being disloyal to the Republic’s cause by failing to disclose the depth of her personal involvement with the enemy. 

But Rey continues to see killing Ben as a disastrous outcome. He’ll be a political martyr and the Rim will be a mess for yet another generation. Worse still, the Force will be displeased. That means it will send another Dark disciple to take up the cause of pushing for balance against the Republic and the Light it represents. Who’s poised to step into Ben’s place? Rey fears it will be Darth Sidious.

And so, miserable Rey persists. She feels trapped in her web of lies. She feels trapped in the dyad with Ben. She feels trapped in the role of Jedi Master she is ill prepared to serve in. But what is the solution? Should she confess? If so, what might the consequences be? Rather than mess with all that, Rey decides to go straight to the remedy. What would Finn and Poe demand if they knew the whole truth? They would kick her off Team Republic in a heartbeat. She’s a huge security breach.

That’s not what she wants, but it seems like the best solution. Earlier, Poe had told her to take some time on her own to do some soul searching about her priorities. She never took him up on that offer. In fact, she resented him for it at the time. But now, she goes to Poe and tells him she’s taking his advice. He’s fine with her absence, telling her to come back ready to kill Ren. 

Whatever. Frustrated with her situation, enraged at Ben’s ongoing manipulation, and increasingly disenchanted with Finn and Poe’s leadership decisions, Rey leaves the Republic for an unspecified time and an undisclosed location. 

In other words, Jakku.

Perhaps some would think it strange that she chooses the harsh wasteland world as a refuge. For she suffered there for years in lonely, violent poverty. But now that hardship is behind her, Rey also sees that Jakku taught her strength, resilience, and resolve. Awful as it was, all that pain empowered her in a fashion. Perhaps there is some truth in the what-doesn’t-kill-me-makes-me-stronger Sith teaching, she ponders. 

But this homecoming isn’t an act of masochism. It is not an expression of self-loathing or an act of self-destruction. She’s not like the drunk who compulsively reaches for another drink in a time of crisis or the junkie who will do anything for more spice to forget his problems. The truth is far more psychologically simple: Jakku is full of familiar problems Rey knows how to solve, unlike the rest of the galaxy. Because back on Jakku, if you have food, water, and some scrap, you are winning. 

Still, this time returning to Jakku feels like defeat. Rey had expected to move on to greater things. She helped to win a war and was poised to do bring peace, justice, and freedom to the galaxy. But all that is over, at least for now. She has been very effectively sidelined by the Force bond. She hates Ben for it even as she recognizes the Force’s role in it. The Force is with Ben and it is aiding and abetting his discord. Perhaps knowing how she strongly feels, the Force has quieted the bond between them lately.

Rey has been back to Jakku before, but this is the first time she intends to stay. As she begins the landing cycle on her X-wing, Rey feels old anxieties rise up. _Is this a mistake?_ Doubts and fears creep into her mind. Rey pushes them aside.

She lands her X-wing adjacent to the toppled AT-AT walker she used to call home. There’s another scavenger squatting in it now. She chases them away. This is the law of the desert in action: finder’s keepers . . . if you can keep it. For on Jakku, ownership is a matter of offense and defense. You only own what you can take and hold onto. There are no law courts out here to deliver justice.

The interior of the walker has changed very little since she left on the _Falcon_. But glum Rey still senses how different things are now. For it’s true what they say: you can’t go home again. That’s not a statement on where you are, but a statement of who you are. Because you can return to a place where little has changed, but you cannot go back to being the person you were when you left. Too much has happened. So when Rey returns home now, she looks on home with fresh eyes as a changed person. 

She has grown enormously from the scavenger waif who rambled wrecks day in, day out. For starters, she now knows she has the Force. That means Rey has little to fear from rival scavengers, opportunistic slavers, and Unkar Plutt’s thugs. It also means she no longer fears starvation and thirst if she cannot find sufficient scrap. She has alternative means to obtain what she needs now. Moreover, she lives here now because she chooses. Not because of any self-delusion that her family will appear to claim her. She’s not a child in need of saving or a damsel in distress. She’s a Jedi Knight who can take care of herself. 

But she also wants to take care of others. Maybe she won’t be doing that in the Republic until the war is over. But Rey is still determined to make a positive contribution, even here on Jakku. For what is the point of having her power if she doesn’t use it to help others? 

Improving Jakku starts with removing the influence of one man--Unkar Plutt. Plutt controls the food portions, which means he controls everything. Jakku remains a barter economy where credits have no meaning. The proxy currency around here is food, with hydration tablets a close second. 

Unfortunately, the Crolute is notorious for his fickle favoritism and casual cruelty. The man is indifferent to suffering. He only cares about himself.

Sure enough, when Rey wanders over to the Niima Outpost, she sees that not much has changed. Looking around, Rey quickly categorizes the populace into the powerful and the powerless. There are the loitering spacers, smugglers, and slavers who come and go to lie low on Jakku, hiding out from pursuing bounty hunters, off-world law enforcement officers, and spice dealers they have double crossed. Those people can leave this forsaken place. Then, there are the local thugs who work for Unkar Plutt as his enforcers. They have relative status and security, so long as they remain on the scrap boss’ good side. And then, there’s the long line of dirty, hungry scavengers waiting at the trading kiosk for their turn to bargain. These people are marooned on Jakku with no possibility of escape short of striking a deal with a spacer, smuggler, or slaver who may or may not honor it. They toil in the hot sun dismantling old ships in exchange for subsistence. There is no social safety net to help them and no ladder up to a better life. This is all there will ever be for them, and it’s awful.

Watching from off to the side as Plutt strikes some deals and refuses others, Rey aches for the plight of her fellow scavengers. With the war very much on her mind, she sees depicted here the cause of the galaxy’s current conflict. For like it or not, this poverty is the reality of the Rim, and it is why first the Separatists, then the Empire, and most recently the First Order have found a foothold. Because out here is where the empty promises of the Republic cut deep. Here is where general lawlessness has citizens poised to welcome a harsh message of law and order. For what good are individual rights and democratic freedoms if there is no one around to enforce them? That slavery persists more than a hundred years after its abolition is evidence of the Republic’s complete ineffectiveness. The bitter truth is that galactic democracies have come and gone, and nothing ever changes.

That’s why for generations now, impoverished forgotten Rim worlds keep joining up with the outlying industrial systems and the many marginalized non-human worlds to form a persistent coalition. Once they were the Confederacy, but now they are the First Order. But through the years, they have remained a populist reform movement with an anti-Establishment, anti-Core message. Kylo Ren did not create the Rim’s problems nor is he the first to lead their insurrection. He’s just the latest in a long line of Dark warlords to champion their cause of revolution.

No matter how the war ends, things are likely to remain the way they are on Jakku, Rey knows. Her world is a sparsely inhabited haven for criminals that’s off the main hyperspace lanes. Neither the Republic nor the First Order will ever bother to spend the resources necessary to clean up and develop Jakku. It’s a rational decision. Both governments set priorities to maximize their return on investment. They focus their efforts where they can do the most good for the most people. That means Jakku loses.

But she can still do good here. 

“Unkar Plutt!” Rey bellows the name of the hated scrap boss. 

It gets his attention. Plutt nods to an underling and then emerges from behind the kiosk. The big, bloated Crolute is slow and ponderous as always. But still, he has plenty of menace. He looks her over silently before he croaks out, “Well, if it isn’t the girl who owes me a ship. Where’s my freighter?” 

It’s not lost on any of their onlookers that this is going to be a confrontation. The line of scavengers waiting to trade for portions disperses fast as people keep their distance. Most fights on Jakku are physical, but Plutt and his men are known to use blasters. No one wants to get caught in the line of fire or hit by ricochet bolts. 

Plutts’ men also sense the brewing fight. One slams down the window of the kiosk, indicating it is closed for business. Others come to stand behind their boss with weapons drawn. 

Rey is one woman against six men, but she has a lightsaber and the Force. She likes those odds.

“You stole that freighter,” she accuses. Unkar Plutt stole the _Falcon_ from the Irving Boys who stole it from Ducain who stole it from Han Solo. The Crolute was just the latest thief in a dubious chain of custody. 

Plutt shrugs. “I scavenged it. We salvage everything around here. You know that.”

Rey now fesses up. “I don’t have the freighter.”

“Where is it?”

“With the First Order . . . who you betrayed me to for credits when they were looking for a droid,” she snarls. Because for Plutt to claim that he is the victim here is pretty bold given the totality of the circumstances.

The Crolute doesn’t bother with a denial. “You should have sold me that BB unit. I offered you plenty.”

“It wasn’t for sale.”

“Everything is for sale. Everyone has a price,” he answers.

“Not me,” Rey hisses. She steps closer to the Crolute as she boldly denounces him in a voice that carries. “Unkar Plutt, you are cheat! You don’t bargain fairly. You don’t treat people the same. You take advantage of your leverage and you victimize others with it. You have many, many lives on your conscience.”

Plutt is unconcerned and impatient. “What’s this about?”

“I’m here to make you answer for your crimes.”

The statement makes him scoff. “There is no law on Jakku.”

“There is me.”

Plutt steps forward now. They are at most four paces apart. “Careful what you threaten, girl,” he growls, as his men move to surround her. “I’m in no mood for this today.”

Neither is she. Rey’s sword leaps to her hand and ignites. The distinctive snap—hiss—hum makes everyone within earshot flinch.

Does anyone recognize who she is now? Rey has been all over the holonet in Republic news reports as a Jedi. But if that impresses Plutt and his gang, they don’t let on. The Crolute’s eyes flick over her blue blade. “Ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side.”

The comment prompts Plutt’s men to raise their blasters and take aim. She’s standing in the midst of what is a circular firing squad in the making.

Rey keeps her cool. She focuses her mind on her anger at Plutt’s reign of corruption and casual injustice. It ends today, she vows silently. But only Plutt needs to die, she decides. Feeling magnanimous, she warns his brutes, “Stand down, or else you will all die with him.”

Plutt sniffs at this bravado and orders, “Kill her.”

The Crolute’s men open fire from all angles, but Rey anticipates them. She leaps high with the help of the Force and the men end up firing shots at nothing. One shot even downs one of their own. Rey quickly dispatches the rest as she lands on her feet swinging. In the blink of an eye, her attackers all lay in the sand in bloody, dismembered pieces. 

Seeing what he’s up against, Plutt caves fast. Feeling powerless for perhaps the first time, the bully is suddenly contrite. “I have been wrong . . . I see that now.”

Rey doesn’t care. She is lusting to kill. 

As she raises her sword to strike, Plutt actually sinks to his knees in the sand. He begs, “Have mercy, Jedi,” in dramatic fashion.

The words stop her. Suddenly, Rey is unsure of herself. Should she let Plutt go so long as he abandons Jakku? If she does, how will she ever be certain he won’t return to reclaim his position? And will he just move on to victimize others on another system? Rey stares hard at the ugly, bloated alien, thinking of all the dead souls that he is responsible for. It girds her resolve, for Rey remembers all too keenly the feeling of hunger.

“Have mercy, Jedi,” Plutt begs again.

But her mind is made up. She will do what must be done. Plutt will be punished and his example will be a warning to others.

“Have mercy!” Plutt is still groveling in the dirt, his arms outstretched to beseech her. The Crolute’s humiliation is very satisfying, but it does nothing to move her. 

Rey speaks loudly and clearly for all to hear. “I do not absolve the guilty. Unkar Plutt, you should die slowly. You should suffer for the years of pain you have caused. But today I will give you a quick, clean death. That is my mercy.”

Then, with one stroke, she strikes off the Crolute’s head. It rolls to join the scattered pieces of his dead henchmen.

Rey has killed before in combat. She knows the feel of death in the Force. She experiences it now. In fact, she relishes the Crolute’s comeuppance. This is justice . . . served with a tinge of revenge. Rey refuses to feel bad about that. For this man and his followers do not deserve her compassion.

What is the difference between revenge and justice? Does it matter if you kill in anger or with resignation? Darth Sidious thought it did, but Rey is not so sure. Dead is dead, no matter why or how it occurs. And like for zombie Sith Lords on Dark worlds in cheering arenas, Rey will give no pretext of due process for the Crolute’s sentence. She is satisfied that Plutt is guilty from her own experience, and that’s enough. Is this punishment vigilantism? Maybe. But she’s fine with it. Plutt had it coming.

“You there!” Rey singles out a local she recognizes as a decent enough guy. She appoints him Plutt’s successor. “You run the kiosk now. Run it fairly or you will answer to me as well.”

The stunned man nods mutely. 

Others in the small crowd of onlookers nod mutely as well. 

Her work here is done. Satisfied, Rey walks off alone into the desert. 

The next day, she’s on her way back to the outpost to check to see how the trading kiosk is operating under new management when Rey comes upon four men on speeder bikes approaching a woman with her child. From the looks of the ambush, they are slavers. Do they want the woman? Or the child? Maybe both.

Well, not on her watch, Rey decides. Normally, she would turn and run the other way for self-preservation. But she’s a Jedi now, and she has nothing to fear from slavers. Time for some more desert justice.

Rey throws up a hand and freezes the scene with the Force. The woman is caught struggling against an attacker. Her boy is frozen in the act of being thrown over some man’s shoulder. Rey rushes to intervene. She grabs back the child and disentangles the woman. “Run!” Rey orders as she loosens her grip on their two bodies with the Force.

The pair don’t have to be told twice. 

Once they are safely away, Rey lights her sword and unfreezes the four slavers. “What do you want with those people?” she demands.

“We’ll take you instead,” one of the men answers as he draws a blaster. 

That’s all Rey needs to hear. Before any of the four men can pump off even one blaster round, she has finished them with her sword. The desert is strewn with blood and limbs. It’s a gory sight. Unbothered Rey decides it is self-defense. She claims one of the deadmen’s speeder bikes as the victor’s spoils and leaves the rest for other scavengers. Then, she heads for the Niima Outpost.

Those first two incidents make Rey feel better about returning. For Jakku has a deep emotional meaning for her and already some of that is welling back up despite her efforts. It’s good things—like pride in her self-reliance and stubborn determination to survive. But it’s bad things as well. Like a creeping sense of futility that feeds an even more insidious undercurrent of desperation. Rey balms over it all with affirmations about her power. No one on Jakku can make her feel small, insignificant, or victimized any longer. She has been set free by her power. And now, she is using her power to make things better for everyone, like a Jedi should.

That sets her off on a mission to rid her homeworld of criminals. She starts hanging around the Niima Outpost to watch for arriving ships. She mostly ignores the smugglers and spice runners. Often times, they hire locals for odd jobs like ship repairs, cleaning, and maintenance. That benefits everyone. But Rey makes it a habit to stalk and kill the slavers. She wants to end the idea that Jakku is a source for women and children to be stolen and trafficked across the galaxy.

It gives Rey a purpose and it sharpens her skills. In fact, in just a few short days, she can sense that her power has grown. She feels stronger, so she must be doing something right. Maybe she didn’t need Luke’s books after all. She’s been self-taught for everything else—why not also the Force? Encouraged, Rey starts thinking big. She lifts a few small wrecks with the Force to practice her control. She’s working her way up to the challenge of lifting a star destroyer when the bond opens.

Rey starts out ignoring Ben like always. Then, it becomes an argument and she’s stuck defending Republic decisions she doesn’t agree with. Finally, just to shut Ben up she tries lifting that star destroyer she’s been eyeing. It works. He freaks out and yells that he’s coming for her. 

Great . . . just great. 

The next morning, Rey vents her frustrations on a scavenger she sees jump another scavenger without provocation. But that good deed doesn’t take the edge off her frustrations. Luckily, another slave ship soon lands to lay low on Jakku. Rey is slicing through the crew when the distinctive howl of a TIE fighter sounds overhead. The dual wings that make a TIE so maneuverable in space also produce the telltale noise of its approach. It’s not a sound heard often in the Jakku skies. It gets Rey’s attention. 

Ben is here.

Rey lowers her sword and looks up to see an entire squadron of TIEs flying escort to a familiar black shuttle. With tall wings that fold up like a bird of prey come home to roost, the heavily armored craft begins its landing cycle. Even at this distance, Rey knows who’s aboard. The bond signals the advent of Kylo Ren, the unlikely soulmate the Force has chosen for her, like it or not.

He said he would come, and come he did. As deceptive as Ben is, he never lies to her. 

Rey stows her weapon and throws a leg over her speeder bike, gunning the engine as she leaves behind five bodies in the dust. She heads for where the shuttle and its TIE escorts are landing. Unless she’s mistaken, it’s directly adjacent to her old AT-AT.

Sure enough, as she pulls up to her recently reclaimed homestead, she meets her visitor. Ben didn’t come alone. He has a small army of troopers with him. They wait in the heat, sweating in white armor, while their leader is in his usual Prince of Darkness regalia. Even in the extreme heat, Ben looks disconcertingly dashing. He is such a distinctive presence to her mind and to her eyes like always. 

Rey decides to play it cool. She pulls up, hops off her bike, and puts her hands on her hips.

“Well . . . if it isn’t the most dangerous man in the galaxy,” she calls as she saunters up. This is her turf and she refuses to be intimidated. Stormtroopers do not concern her. She has the Force.

Ben eyes her closely. He purses his lips with displeasure. “You’re the dangerous one. You were killing someone when we landed,” he accuses. “Don’t deny it. I felt it.”

Rey shrugs as she comes to a halt. She is proud of what she is doing here. “It was just some slavers. They come looking for people to steal and sell. Mostly women and girls, but sometimes young boys too. You don’t want to know what people buy them for.”

“I don't care who you kill,” Ben informs her bluntly. “I care that you enjoyed killing.”

What double standard is this? She huffs, “Oh, you are one to talk—“

“This isn't you!” Ben cuts her off. His voice is concerned and his manner agitated. She’s picking up uncomfortable emotions in the bond now. Ben is afraid . . . but afraid for her, not of her.

Has she just stepped off her Force princess pedestal and disappointed him? Well, tough. “You don't get to decide who I am—“

“This isn’t you! Something is wrong. What has got you upset?” He looks around in disgust and gestures to her humble AT-AT. “Why are you here? Why are you living like this? Rey, what is going on?”

She scowls across at him, mentally tallying the troopers he brought and calculating just how much Force push it will take to toss them all over the nearest sandbank. Ben meets her eyes and she knows he knows what she’s thinking. He frowns some more because he disapproves of her aggression.

Again, she’s annoyed at his double standard. Rey snarls, “Did you bring your whole army? Is there a capital ship in orbit as well?”

“Yes. This might have been a trap. Your friends are panting to kill me.”

Oh. “Oh.” She’s hurt by the assumption that she might betray him. She came here specifically to avoid that outcome. Rey is stung. “You don't trust me?”

His lip twists. “You’ve been in my head for months trolling for military secrets—“

“Like you've been in mine!”

“Rey, what’s wrong?” he demands again. “Forget the troopers—tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” she screeches, her voice rising in pitch and volume. “You actually have the gall to ask me what’s wrong??” That came out shrill, but she’s angry.

Ben takes a step forward. “I never thought I’d see you with yellow eyes.”

What? “Yellow eyes? Oh, please . . . ”

“Yellow eyes, Rey.” He’s serious. “When I saw you in the bond lifting that ship, you had yellow eyes.”

“I did not!”

“You did.”

Did she? Could she? No, of course not. “That’s not true! That’s a lie!”

Ben’s reply is slow and quiet. “You don't even realize it, do you?”

“Realize what?”

“That you're using the Dark Side.”

“I am not!”

“Rey, I can help you—“

Not a chance. “Stop judging me by your own example! You’re the one whose eyes turned yellow when you marched back to the First Order! This is because I shot you with lightning the last time I saw you, isn’t it? Get over it!” Ben deserved that lightning after how he has treated her. Rey refuses to regret it.

He starts talking slowly and softly. It’s in sharp contrast to her defensive hollering. “I’m not judging you. I want to help you. I know how those eyes feel.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“I’m FINE! And my eyes are fine!” Even in that scary vision on Endor, she didn’t have yellow eyes. Whatever Ben thinks he saw through the bond, he is wrong. Absolutely wrong. And there was no need for him to come running across the galaxy to save her.

Ben starts talking in a slow cadence now. Like she’s an out-of-control junkie high on spice with a blaster in her hand or some suicidal person teetering on a high ledge. He’s acting like if he makes one false move or says one wrong word, there could be terrible consequences. Ben is very serious as he holds out his hand and invites, “Come back with me. Let me teach you how to control your aggressive feelings. This is dangerous, Rey.”

Really, that’s unnecessary. “I AM FINE!” She shoots him a resentful look. Could he be gaslighting her? Because that’s something he might do. Ben would definitely lie to her to convince her that she needs him. 

Ben’s in her thoughts. He warns, “I know that paranoia well. There will be obsessions soon too, if not already.”

Rey fumes, “Is this your version of an intervention?”

“Is it working?”

“No! I can handle myself. I know Jakku.”

He nods to placate her. “It’s not Jakku I’m worried about. Rey, I just want to help. I know you don’t want this. And I know how much you don’t want to be here.” He’s in her thoughts and he sees how defeated she feels being back home. How she felt she had no better options.

Well, that may be true, but it’s not all bad. Rey lifts her chin. “I am doing good things here.”

“Killing people?”

“Bad people. Look, you are no one to judge! You don’t know how things are here.” No one knows just how violent and hopeless this place is. But at least she can do some good here. Indignant Rey staunchly proclaims, “I will bring peace, justice, freedom, and security to my old homeworld.”

Ben blinks, gulps, and repeats his earlier lines in that same slow voice. “I don’t care who you kill. I care that you enjoy killing.”

She cringes at the suggestion. Moreover, she’s offended. “I am not Dark! I will never be Dark! I am a Jedi trained by Luke Skywalker—“

“Who was Dark at times despite all his efforts!” exasperated Ben thunders over her. She sees in his mind a flash of the memory of Luke’s saber lit at his bedside. She feels the rush of betrayal that memories of his uncle always trigger. “Luke was a Chosen One, like you! He was equally capable of being Dark and Light—like you! Rey, whatever is wrong, I can help. I know what it means to be conflicted. I know how hard Darkness can be to control.”

Yes, she is conflicted, but conflicted about politics, not the Force. And Ben is mostly to blame for her conflict. He is the one who restarted the war and put them in the awful position of being enemies who are bonded. And now, she’s torn between her loyalty to the Republic’s cause, her desire for balance, and the undeniably alluring, always persuasive, and lately surprisingly charismatic Kylo Ren. It’s a terrible predicament that Rey does not know how to resolve. 

“You are the problem! You are why I’m here! I’m failing everyone now—“

“No! You have not failed!” He won’t hear of it. “By leaving the Republic, you are choosing balance.”

“It feels like I am choosing nothing,” Rey wails. “And now you’re here to pretend to rescue me when this is what you wanted all along—for me to join you.”

Ben frowns. “I have never wanted you on the Dark Side. You know that.”

“I’ll never join you!” How many times must she say it until the message gets through? 

“You’re pushing me away again.”

“Yes! Exactly! I want to be left alone! I came here to be alone!” 

“You’re not alone.”

Whatever. She sighs, “This war keeps raging on and there is no end in sight . . . ”

“We’re winning.”

“I know! And I don’t know what that means . . . ”

“I hope it means peace and order and balance.” Ben takes another step forward. “I hope it means us together.”

Not a chance. Did he not hear her just tell him she’ll never join him? Rey lashes out. “I think I hate you! I hate you for the bond . . . for restarting the war . . . for winning the war . . . ” And for killing Han Solo and for destroying Hosnia and for being such an amazing kisser and for how he acted in Snoke’s throne room and for so much more. She could go on and on with all the ways this man confounds and disappoints her.

Ben holds up his hands to forestall her litany of complaints, telling her sagely, “Don't give in to hate. That leads—“

“To the Dark Side??” she jeers. “Here! Feel some Dark Side.” She lets loose some Force lightning.

Ben dodges it. Barely. But now all the troopers behind him aim their weapons at her.

“Stand down!” Ben waves them off. Then, he shoots her a reproving look. “That was a cheap shot.”

“Next time, I won’t miss,” she retorts.

He ignores her. “Two days. That’s all I ask. Give me two days and then you can come back here and play queen of the desert and rearrange the star destroyers if you want.”

Does he think she’s stupid? “I can’t be seen with you! One of your guys is going to accidentally on purpose snap a picture of me on your ship per your orders and then I’ll never be able to go back to my friends.” She doesn’t have the cover of a supposed assassination attempt this time. 

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Of course, you would!” This is a man who forced the dyad bond on her. Ben is capable of anything. Rey cocks her head and informs him, “You know, part of me really wants to kill you like they want me to do.”

He shakes his head. “Search your feelings. You can’t do that.”

“Don't press me, because I might,” she threatens, adding, “Do not underestimate my power!” for good measure.

Ben’s not impressed or intimidated. If anything, he seems to pity her. “Is it that bad?” he asks softly.

She answers with more Force lighting. She’s just so angry and disappointed with how things have turned out. “We should have run away together . . . we should have left it all behind and let the galaxy sort itself out without us . . . ” They might have been so happy together.

“I know.” Ben wisely refrains from saying ‘I told you so.’ Instead, he sighs, “It’s too late for that now,” as he climbs to his feet.

Heedless of their audience of aiming stormtroopers, Rey wails, “Can’t we find some portal to the World Between Worlds and go back and fix it?”

“You know about that?”

She nods. “It was in Luke’s books.”

“I wish we could do that . . . really, I do.” She sees in Ben’s mind now how many important decisions he would do over again with the benefit of hindsight. “But that’s not how the Force works. We have to live with our mistakes and their consequences. Other people have to live with our mistakes and consequences as well.”

“Like all the lives lost since you went back to war?” she sneers. It’s a low blow, but it feels good.

“Like those six slavers you just killed,” he answers.

“Five,” she corrects him. “Five today and four yesterday.”

“Do you feel better?” It’s a serious question.

“Yeah, I guess . . . a little. Why?”

“Maybe you need to just get it out of your system.”

“I regret nothing!” she hollers indignantly, stamping her boot in the sand for emphasis.

“Yes, I know . . . ” Ben answers glumly. “That’s the problem.” He motions to an officer now. “Unload the supplies. Stack them where she wants them.”

The officer begins barking orders and the troopers start to retrieve boxes.

“What is this?”

“Supplies,” Ben answers. “This should be enough food and water to hold you for a week. Since you won’t come back with me, I’ll be back to check on you. Here.” He tosses her a comlink. “Find me if you need me.”

Rey looks down at the personal comlink to Supreme Leader Ren. If the Republic had this, they could reverse engineer a call and locate his precise location. This is an assassination attempt in the making, and a good one.

Ben knows it, too. “I’m trusting you with that,” he warns, wagging a gloved finger her direction. “Don't let me down.”

He has a lot of nerve making that remark after all the times he’s let her down. And whoops—that thought just leaked across the bond.

Still, staring at the comlink, Rey commits. “I won’t give this to the Republic. I’m here to avoid all that.”

“Good.”

But just so she’s not coming across too demurely, Rey adds tartly, “I won’t help them kill you. Instead, I’ll come kill you myself.”

“Is that a promise?” Ben smirks. “Because I have died before . . . ”

“Oh, don’t start! You’re not the only one who’s been dead, you know—“

“So true, so true. You’re welcome, Rey. You’re welcome for the gift of life.”

She hates to be reminded that he saved her on Exogol. “Go away! Don’t you have a war to fight?”

“You know, in some cultures, if you save someone’s life, they are indebted to you—“

“It’s worse for us,” she snaps back, “since we are bonded. I’m stuck forever with you!”

“Yes, and that makes me feel responsible for you.” Ben drops the mockery now and worries, “I don’t want to come back next week and find you with Sith eyes and your saber out.”

“I am a Jedi!” she screeches. “I bring justice!” To prove the point, she lights her blue blade and brandishes it.

Ben all but rolls his eyes as he motions his men back on board. “So be it, Jedi. Try not to kill everyone on the planet with your benevolence.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I want better for you than this.” Suddenly, Ben is very much the Force philosopher who taught her on Zakuul. Gone is the posturing, provoking Dark warlord, replaced with the resigned young man who struggles under the weight of his family’s legacy. This is the man few but her get to see. It’s also the authentic self who explains the riddle of Kylo Ren. For all this man does—whether he is acting or reacting—is with his personal purpose of balance in mind. But no one save her and Darth Plagueis actually knows that. 

And so, while his listening men are confused, Ben announces solemnly, “I will trust in the Force that this is your destiny in action. That your path, like mine, will meander but still move forward.”

She hotly rejects the comparison. “I’m nothing like you!”

“We are the same!” he hisses. “Pushing to the middle from opposite extremes. One day,” he predicts, “you will meet me in the middle. Neither Dark nor Light, but something in between.”

“I’ll never join you!” She rejects him again. Rebuking this Dark devil prince like a good Jedi should. 

He sees things differently. “If you don't meet me in the middle, then we both will have failed. This—this—“ Through the bond, Rey knows he’s searching for right words to describe her current state. “This—this Dark detour of yours must be for a reason. Because while the arc of the moral universe is long, it bends towards balance. And so, I hope, in time will you.”

“Go away! I don’t need saving! You’re the lost soul!” Rey sneers above her humming sword.

Ben doesn’t holler back. His words are disarming kind, but firm. “I can help you, I can protect you, I can even revive you from death, but I can’t save you . . . just like you can’t save me.”

“I know . . . oh, how I know . . . ” She tried . . . she really tried at Crait. She gave him the perfect setup and he refused. 

Ben knows what she’s thinking. He nods. “Ultimately, we save ourselves or damn ourselves. The Force gives us free will to choose. Follow the will of the Force and be a hero, or stand against the Force in vain defeat. Rey, I’m leaving now. I’m leaving you in Darkness. I’m telling you to seek balance for both our sakes. I can be patient, but the Force will only give you so many chances. Heed the example of Luke Skywalker.”

With that emphatic speech, Ben leaves. 

_Don’t be Luke Skywalker_. That’s what everyone tells her for different reasons. It’s frustrating.

But at least Ben is gone, for now. Dejected Rey ducks into her AT-AT to escape the sun. Inside she retrieves her hidden datapad to watch the newsfeeds with today’s war reports. Next, she reads the hardline Chancellor’s latest polemic is against the First Order. Everything the Chancellor says is factually correct: the First Order is an existential threat to freedom and democracy that must be stopped. The problem is the means to stop them. For as the Chancellor proclaims publicly, all options are on the table because the Republic must remain intact at all costs. There will be no compromise with the evil, untrustworthy First Order.

From her vantage point, wary Rey sees the Republic slowly sliding down the slippery slope into its own version of repression. It’s stamping out legitimate dissent under the guise of sedition. It’s openly considering whether to ban First Order candidates from the upcoming elections. If so, it will continue to govern the Rim under martial law. That’s not freedom and democracy for all. That’s freedom and democracy for the Core. Ben is right that nothing will change for the Rim under this newest Republic. His people know it too, and that means they have nothing to lose by continuing to fight. Even if the Republic eventually prevails, Rey fears it may cost them their ideals. 

It’s discouraging to see righteous Republic lawmakers adopt an ‘ends justify the means’ political approach that is excused by the ruthlessness of the enemy. Admittedly, a little paranoia is appropriate where the First Order is concerned. Because remember Hosnia? But still . . . where do you draw the line? How far can you bend the rules before you break them? 

Will the Republic betray its values and lose itself in the process of saving the galaxy from Kylo Ren? Poe and Finn wouldn’t be the first well intentioned people to make the wrong decisions. Can they see that? Maybe not. Sometimes we are too close to a situation to view our actions objectively. We see what we intend to do, not what we actually do, Rey laments.

But if the Republic is headed down the wrong path—maybe even a Dark path—what does that mean? And whose side is she on? Rey’s beginning to think that there is good and bad on both sides of the war . . . that there are villains and heroes amid both the First Order and the Republic. Moreover, it is increasingly worrisome for her to know that the Force is mostly with Ben lately. He’s winning, and that matters. 

Her comlink rings to interrupt her brooding. It’s Finn. Should she pick up? She does. Mostly, it’s to hear a familiar voice that’s not Ben. One week on Jakku and she’s achingly lonely again. 

“Rey, how are you?”

Drat. She screwed up and answered with full hologram video and not just audio like she planned. Oh well. She flashes a fake smile. “I’m fine.”

“Back on Jakku?”

“Yeah.”

“I wish it were anywhere but there.”

She puts a good spin on it. “I’m doing good things here.”

“Yeah? Tell me.”

“I’ve been chasing away slavers and improving the trading post. Making it more fair.”

“That all sounds good. I need to hear good news.”

“Did something happen?”

“Nah, it’s just more of the same. A lot of people died today . . . like every day. It gets me down. And the longer this goes on—“

“The longer it will continue,” she finishes.

Her friend nods. “Things are getting entrenched. I’m beginning to fear this war won’t be over any time soon.” General Finn sighs heavily and ventures hopefully, “You ready to come back yet?”

Finn sure doesn’t make it look appealing. “No.”

“I can accept that you won’t kill Ren.”

“Can Poe accept that?”

“I’m working on him. He’ll come around in time.”

“He has a very different concept of the Jedi than I do.”

“That’s true. I’ll be honest,” Finn admits, “I don’t understand why you won’t kill him.“

She borrows Ben’s earlier words. “In some cultures, when someone saves your life, you owe them a life debt.”

“Don't fall for that. Rey, the way I see it, Ren has manipulated you very effectively. He’s taken the one person in the galaxy who is his peer who can stop him and set you on the sidelines.”

“That’s true.” Looking at the concerned face of her first ever friend, Rey wishes the Force had bonded her with Finn instead of Ben. Why did she have to get stuck with the provoking Ben Solo whose truths are as seductive as his person? Why couldn’t she be bonded to safe, earnest, good Finn?

The former stormtrooper now worries, “Do you really think Ren’s going to let you live long-term? You’re an existential threat to him like Skywalker was to Snoke.”

“I know.”

“Are you getting this? Rey, you have a target on your back! Get off Jakku--it’s the first place he’ll look for you.”

Rey takes a deep breath and reveals, “He doesn't want to kill me.”

“Not yet, but he will. He’s busy with the war, but he’ll turn his attention to you at some point. That guy is nothing if not strategic. Ren’s always two steps ahead of us . . . that’s the problem.”

“I’m safe here.”

“Have you heard anything I’ve said? Because unless Ren’s hoping to recruit you to Team Sith, a Jedi—any Jedi—is his enemy.”

She comes clean. “He does want to recruit me.”

“Wait—he’s tried?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“At the Starkiller and then again at Crait.” And on Zakuul and most recently here on Jakku today.

“Oh.” Finn’s soft brown eyes narrow. “You said no, right?”

“Of course, I said no!”

“Whew. I mean, for a minute there I thought maybe . . . ”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe you were thinking about it and that’s why you left us,” Finn answers, watching her closely. 

Uh oh. She’s busted. Rey covers her chagrin with bluster. “Not wanting to kill Ren and wanting to join him are two completely different things!”

“Are they? I mean, if you aren’t with us—“

“You're against us? Is that it??”

“Well, yes, since you’re our Jedi. Rey, you are not some ordinary person living an ordinary life who can sit out the war on the sidelines without there being consequences.”

She makes a face. “Are you about to tell me not to be Luke Skywalker?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

Ugh. She’s heard that too many times before. “Look, Finn, if I wanted to have this conversation over and over again, I wouldn’t have come here.” She hiding on Jakku to end the browbeating by her friends and the treasonous manipulation by Ben. She desperately needs a break from all that.

Finn relents. “Alright, I get it. Sorry. It’s just that it’s been a bad day and I can only see bad days ahead and I keep wondering how we got in this situation and I keep coming back to—"

“Ren.” Ben is the disruptor to all the Republic’s plans and the Force is with him.

“Yes. Someone has to stop him. That gets me to my next idea.”

“What’s that?”

“You train me. You teach me the Force and I kill Ren.”

Rey gulps. “Finn, that’s suicide.”

“Not if you train me.”

“I’m not training you so Ren can kill you.” Ben will have no issues slaughtering Finn and bragging to the whole galaxy about the execution of the traitor stormtrooper turned Republic general.

Finn looks stung by her lack of confidence in him. He shoots her a resentful look. “Poe’s onboard with the idea.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know enough to teach you. I barely know anything myself.” 

“Fine. Give me Skywalker’s books and I’ll teach myself.”

“No! Finn, you’re our lead general. We need you in command!”

“Yes, well, since our Jedi won’t kill Ren, I’m stepping up to do it. I’m not afraid to die, Rey.”

“I know that.” Finn has plenty of courage. “It’s just . . .” It’s just that Plagueis burned Luke’s books and most of what she knows she learned from Kylo Ren. She’ll never be able to explain that in a way Finn will understand. So, she stalls, “Let me think it over some more.”

Clearly, Finn is hurt by that answer. He is peevish as she signs off to end the conversation.

Rey is truly beleaguered now. Maybe, she thinks, the problem is that there are two Chosen Ones and that’s one too many. Maybe the problem is that either Ben or her should not have been resurrected. Because then, there would be a last man standing to make decisions and influence the future without the need to compromise. It would be one person’s vision of the future and one person’s quest for balance. There would be no civil war of competing ideals with the fate of the galaxy hanging in the balance.

But Ben himself deserves a lot of blame. He restarted the war and then amped up the pressure on her personally by rekindling the bond. It’s put her in an impossible position. She refuses to drag Finn into the mess of her relationship with Ben Solo. There has been enough collateral damage already. 

She sent Ben away today, and he left. But even so, Rey fears their conflicts are coming to an inevitable flashpoint. Ben was the sacrifice that her Jedi life and Republic ideals required of her. Still, in the back of her mind, Rey has always hoped that even though she and Ben cannot be together, they can somehow coexist as equals on opposite sides of the war and the Force. Because despite all Ben has done, she respects him and cares for him. It’s . . . complicated and always has been. 

But that goal of coexistence is a mistake, floundering Rey sees now. The status quo is unacceptable for everyone. She hates it, Finn and Poe keep pushing for her to do more, and insidious Ben keeps trying to recruit her. Hiding on Jakku hasn’t dampened the situation and it won’t solve anything. It just postpones the confrontation she wants to avoid. And that pretty much makes her Luke Skywalker, Rey realizes. He didn’t want to kill Ben Solo either.


	21. Chapter 21

He’s in a meeting when his personal comlink rings. Only about ten people have the codes to call him directly to bypass the chain of command. Looking around, Kylo sees that most of them are in the room with him currently. That gets his hopes up.

“Ren.” He announces himself as he takes the call in audio mode only. 

“Ben.” It’s Rey. He’s both relieved and concerned to hear from her. It hasn’t yet been a week since he reluctantly left his girl brooding on Jakku. She had been hostile and aggressive, but unwilling to accept help beyond basic supplies. So, he made a strategic retreat. Ever since, he’s been hoping the bond will open. That hasn’t happened, but now she’s unexpectedly reaching out to him.

“Rey!” Kylo immediately stands from his seat at the head of the table to stalk to the corner. He presents his back to the room and talks softly for a modicum of privacy. “Are you alright?” 

“Ben, you were right. Jakku is a mistake. It doesn’t solve anything to hide here.”

Excellent. “Sit tight. I’ll send a ship to pick you up.”

“No, I already left. I couldn’t stay there any longer. It was making me feel . . . ” She doesn’t finish her sentence.

“Are you okay?” Rey sounds like she’s crying. Or maybe she’s struggling not to cry. But either way, she’s distressed. 

“I think you are right and I am struggling with . . .”

“Yes?” he prompts when her voice trails off into silence.

“I think I am s-struggling with—with D-Darkness.” Rey sounds horrified at the admission, like he knew she would be. Over the comlink, he hears her start to sob, which makes sense. Dark power tends to encourage the surfacing of difficult emotions. His girl is generally shy of her feelings, so Kylo can imagine how triggering this is for her. How she must be suffering right now . . . 

Kylo takes charge. “Where are you? I’ll come for you myself.” Because his war is important but the Force—and Rey—will always take precedence.

“I just stopped to refuel at a depot outside Ord Mantell.”

“Mid Rim?”

“Yes. I can’t refuel an X-wing in the Rim. Someone will shoot me.”

She’s right. Tensions are running at an all-time high of late. 

“Can I come to you?” she asks hopefully. 

It’s sweet music to his ears. “Of course. I’ll send coordinates.” But his eyes narrow as soon as the words leave his mouth. For he is alert to trickery, even from Rey. He warns sternly, “We’ll be expecting just a single X-wing.”

“Ben, it’s just me. I’m coming for you—to you,” Rey corrects herself. He can feel the truth of her words in the Force. It satisfies him that there is no Republic ambush afoot. “You were right . . . you were right about me. I’m D-Dark,” she confesses, sounding both aghast and defeated. It tells him that this is a personal crisis and not a political decision. 

“Darkness is nothing to be ashamed of,” he soothes. “There is more than one path to peace and justice. But you must learn to control it.”

“Will you meet me in the hangar bay?” she pleads. He hears nervousness in her voice. “I don’t want someone to arrest me . . . your people will recognize me . . . I’m flying an X-wing . . . ”

“I’ll be there,” he promises.

“Thanks.” He hears the relief in her voice.

“I will give orders to let you land. You are always welcome here.”

“Make sure your people know that.”

“I will.”

The transmission fuzzes out. 

Kylo turns now to face the roomful of high ranking First Order military commanders who have overheard. Some are looking at him curiously. Others with disapproval. He attempts to diffuse any criticism by claiming victory. 

He announces, “Emperor Palpatine’s wayward granddaughter, the Republic Jedi, wants to come home at last. She’s been our best spy for months now, but it is time to welcome the heiress to the Empire back where she belongs.” At his side, on his side, like the Force intends.

A few heads nod. Most glower. Rey’s not popular with this crowd. Kylo is well aware that there are rumors about their personal relationship thanks to Rey’s last visit, so he addresses them now. “Lady Ren has complicated loyalties. Like Darth Vader’s children, Darth Sidious’ granddaughter was stolen and hidden from her family. As a result, she is skeptical of our cause and shy of her role. I expect you to set an example for the rank and file by your acceptance of her presence here.”

“Lady Ren? Don’t you mean Lady Rey?” a rather flummoxed looking General probes.

That’s exactly the attitude that prompts him to make a bold announcement: “Reina Palpatine, better known in the Republic as Rey of Jakku, is my wife.” He indulges in a little revisionist history now to explain away Rey’s Republic heroine role fighting Emperor Palpatine. “Snoke married us on the Starkiller, much to her dismay. It sent her running to the enemy and motivated her actions at Exogol. She’s headstrong and very young, but she’s also extremely useful and talented. I tolerate her whims and so shall you.”

That juicy reveal silences everyone. Whatever they were expecting him to say, that wasn’t it. But hopefully, giving Rey wife status will afford her some protection. As it is, she’s a very visible representative of the enemy, and that puts her at risk. 

Reading the depth of unspoken hostility in the room, Kylo feels compelled to embellish a bit more. “One day, she will join us openly. I have foreseen it,” he outright lies.

The surly General connects the dots out loud. “Lord Vader’s grandson married Lord Sidious’ granddaughter . . . “

“The Force arranged it, and the Force makes no mistakes,” Kylo shuts down any naysayers with a dose of Dark piety. 

That’s enough about his messy personal life. It’s time to get back to work. “Colonel Crassus,” he turns to his favorite aide, a crusty but smart Imperial veteran. “What is your assessment of our supply situation?” That’s everyone’s cue for the meeting to resume.

That meeting leads to another meeting and then yet another. He tries to keep his mind in the present, but it keeps wandering to the future . . . to Rey. He’s on the bridge for a quick status update when a lone X-wing drops out of hyperspace nearby. It’s Rey. She’s here and she came alone like she promised. 

He will keep his word to meet her in the hangar bay. But to waste no time, he commands Colonel Crassus to accompany him so he can continue to hear his report as they walk. His days are so jam packed lately that he is loath to waste a moment. He constantly multitasks, moving from crisis to crisis. Did his grandfather ever feel like this? Kylo wonders how Darth Vader managed to oversee a sprawling Empire for his fickle Sith Master. Ruling even half the galaxy is an awful lot of work. 

But Rey is here, and that’s real progress. “She’s landed.” His anticipation is so great that Kylo says the words aloud. He can feel her presence in the Force. She’s upset, like he’s expecting. Rey was a wreck when she called him this morning on the comlink. Her mood has not improved, he senses.

“Over there.” Crassus points to the far end of the hangar bay close to the air lock. Sure enough, Rey has landed. She’s climbing down from her high cockpit. 

Kylo sets off to meet her. 

Her arrival has not gone unnoticed. Rey’s enemy fighter is a notable sight on his ship, and it has attracted attention. The hangar bay techs and a number of stormtroopers have gathered to gawk. Through the bond, Kylo can tell that Rey feels threatened. She’s very tense. 

“I told the deck officer to keep people away,” Kylo grumbles as he picks up his pace. At his side, old Crassus struggles to keep up. “She didn’t want this attention . . . ”

Rey’s on the ground now and she’s having none of it. She responds to the curiosity with indignant aggression. She shrieks something he’s too far away to hear as she lights her sword. Next, Rey makes a sweeping gesture with her left arm. It lets loose a mighty Force push that tosses thirty-odd men clear across the hangar bay. One lands in a heap in front of him as a grisly incoming missile.

“Fuck,” Kylo swears under his breath as he steps over the casualty, never breaking stride. Things are not off to a good start introducing his Jedi ladylove to the crew. Couldn’t Rey have at least tried to make a good first impression? Did she have to escalate things?

Rey plants her feet and starts hollering. This time, he’s close enough to hear above the din of ion engines, refueling equipment, and ambient voice chatter. 

“Kylo Ren! Where is Kylo Ren?”

“Wow . . . ” The aide at his side is impressed. “She’s uh . . . er . . . ” The Colonel can’t seem to find the words to describe his secret wife who currently wears an expression of Hell storming determination. Rey looks extremely pissed off. Like some wronged woman come for revenge, not a lost scavenger waif come seeking his help.

“Kylo Ren! Where is Kylo Ren?” Rey bellows for him like she’s issuing a challenge to a duel, not being welcomed aboard his ship after she asked to visit. 

“Fuck . . .” This entrance doesn’t bode well. Kylo picks up his pace some more as he mutters, “This not how I thought this day would go.”

Crassus looks increasingly alarmed. “Sir, shall we—“

  
  
“KYLO REN? WHERE IS KYLO REN?”

By this time, a new group of troopers have surrounded Rey with weapons drawn. Kylo hurries to insert himself. He gave orders to welcome Rey, but that was before she started throwing people around. She’s definitely provoking violence. Soon, some trigger-happy deck officer is going to disobey orders and take a shot at the tempting target she presents. He’ll claim it is self-defense, and he might be correct.

“Stand down!” Kylo’s instruction is loud and firm. “I will deal with her myself. No one interferes.”

That the Supreme Leader himself has appeared to issue the order seems to appease everyone. The troopers fall back and lower their rifles as they exchange incredulous looks. 

It’s not enough. “Dismissed!” Kylo barks, shooing everyone away. He and Rey don’t need an audience, especially since she’s in one of her moods.

The troops comply but hovering Crassus remains. “Is that wise, Sir? I mean—“

  
  
“You mean she’s acting like a crazy bitch?” Kylo complains under his breath. He’s eyeing Rey and he doesn’t like what he sees. 

  
  
“I was about to say that she’s the enemy Jedi.”

  
  
Kylo shakes his head. “Look at those eyes.” Even standing thirty paces away, he can see Rey’s unnatural Sith eyes gleaming. It’s alarming. But to protect his cover story for her background, Kylo elaborates, “She’s no Jedi. Reina Palpatine will never be a Jedi no matter how hard she tries. She’s a Sith princess, like it or not.”

  
  
“If you say so, Sir. Is she really the lost Imperial heiress?” Even Crassus is dubious.

He answers with a half-truth. “She calls herself Snoke’s daughter.”

The Colonel knows what the whole First Order knows: “Snoke was Lord Sidious’ creation.”

Kylo sticks to his story as he and Rey continue their silent stare down. “Lord Sidious had Snoke marry his granddaughter to his Apprentice.” It’s partly true since Snoke claimed to have bridged their minds and created the Force bond. 

“Yes, but she claims to have killed Lord Sidious,” Crassus worries.

“That’s fake news.” Because, among other things, Darth Sidious isn’t dead. But Kylo can’t acknowledge that openly.

The Colonel clears his throat. “Usually, we make up that sort of fake news.”

Kylo slants his best aide some quelling side eye. “Are you doubting that the Republic lies to the galaxy?”

“No, Sir.”

“Good.”

“Kylo Ren!” Rey pops out her hip and gives her sword a splashy spin. He can feel her seething anger as she hisses, “Kylo Ren, you’re a dead man!”

Yep, it’s like he fears. She’s here to kill him.

Kylo sighs and looks to the veteran campaigner at his side. “You got a wife, Crassus?” Admittedly, he’s stalling for a moment. But he’s disappointed that this latest reunion with Rey is yet another battle. 

The Colonel answers, “Ex-wife.”

  
  
“Did you ever fight?”

  
  
“All the time. But not with swords.”

  
  
“Who won?”

  
  
“She did. She always won. Then, she took me to the cleaners in the divorce,” the Colonel harrumphs, his eyes never leaving Rey.

  
  
“I understand,” Kylo nods. His eyes never leave Rey either. “Every time my wife and I fight, she wins. It’s because I’m not trying to hurt her.”

“She looks ready to kill you,” the Colonel observes pointedly. “Shall I call for reinforcements?”

Kylo repeats his orders, “No one interferes no matter what she does.”

“Understood, Sir. Good luck, Sir. Women can be . . . can be . . .”

“Maddening?” Kylo volunteers the punchline. 

“Quite so, Sir,” his aide defers automatically. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them . . . ” the Colonel paraphrases the lament of the male species everywhere. 

Assessing Rey in her current state, Kylo concurs wholeheartedly.

“Kylo Ren!” Rey raises her sword to eye level. She’s staring down her blade at him in a showy challenge. It’s something he would do. And damn this girl for always stealing his best moves.

Time to get this over with. He steps forward now. He crosses his arms, making a show of leaving his own weapon at his side. When he speaks, he matches Rey’s intensity with a deliberate casualness that would shock his underlings. 

“Good. You’re here. Come,” he beckons to Rey with a rare smile. “Let’s talk in private.” Away from the hangar bay filled with people glued to this lurid confrontation. Away where they can speak honestly without witnesses. “Come,” he again encourages.

He’s channeling Han Solo whose first instinct was to charm his way out of every sticky situation. Here’s hoping he inherited some of that smooth talking swindler charisma, because he’s going to need it. The bond tells him that Rey is very serious. She truly is here to kill him. That comlink conversation was a ruse and he fell for it completely.

Rey coolly declines. “I’m not here to talk.”

“We’ll get to that part later,” he smirks out innuendo, still aiming for that cocksure, smuggler bravado. “But first, we should talk. Come.” He beckons again.

Yellow-eyed Rey now starts girding her resolve. “I know what I have to do . . . ” She looks fully committed, but her thoughts betray her through the bond. As if to convince herself, she repeats, “I know what I have to do!” louder this time. 

But he knows her inner torment. It screaming out to his mind. Rey wants to kill him, but she doesn’t want to kill him. She feels driven to this point and yet she’s still reluctant. Because she doesn’t know if she has the strength to do it. She’s torn, like always, and full of self-doubt.

He seizes on her hesitation. “Rey, don’t do this. I know you don’t want to do this.”

Can she go through with it? Can she kill him? She will do it if it will end the war. If it will end her position stuck between on the one hand her allegiance to the Republic and her regard for her friends, and on the other hand her need for a teacher and her personal feelings for him. Rey wants balance, but she wants to arrive there from the Light. But somehow, she and he have traded places and now she’s staring him down with haunted yellow eyes that are Dark. She refuses to admit it, though. Kylo realizes that his confused girl thinks she’s here as a Jedi. That bit on the comlink about struggling with Darkness was the truth, but poor self-deluded Rey thought it was strategic deception.

Kill him and she will end the war, please her friends, and remove the romantic temptation that she as a good Jedi ought to reject. It's three-way win, she figures. What does she have to lose? Just his knowledge. Although, apparently Rey thinks she doesn’t need a teacher any longer. She’s teaching herself the Force . . . and she has managed to teach herself Darkness.

Kylo knows firsthand what it feels like to be drunk on Dark power and lusting for a fight. He keeps talking Rey down. If he can, he will preempt a duel in which both of them lose. “Search your feelings. You can’t do this.”

“I have to do this!”

“No, you don’t. People like you and me don’t have to do anything. We answer only to history.” Ordinary people follow orders. Skywalkers give them. “Come,” he cajoles calmly. “Turn off the sword and let’s talk.” 

“No. This is happening. Here. Now.” Rey sinks into a posture of attack.

Kylo gulps. Here they go. But he refuses to reach for his weapon. He will continue to fight with words. “I feel the conflict within you. Let go of your hate. Rey, it will consume you.” And damn, he thinks ruefully, he sounds like his uncle. 

Rey snarls, “There is no conflict!”

“You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me. I see your every intent. I’m in your mind,” he reminds her.

Rey advances and starts swinging. “I am here to end this war and to end us . . . by ending you.”

He leaps back, dodging and weaving. He remains unarmed. “Why?” 

“Why??” The question surfaces Rey’s strong sense of desperation. She keeps slashing as he cedes ground. “I am being torn apart! I want to be rid of this pain . . . to end this guilt.” She’s furious with her position as an unwitting traitor to the Republic. She’s angry at how sympathetic she has become to the First Order cause. She’s worried that he may be right and she might actually be turning Dark like in her scary vision. It’s why she’s here today—to prove her Jedi status to herself and to the Republic by killing Darth Sidious’ Sith Apprentice.

“That pain is not me,” he warns. He thinks now of his dead father who he killed to prove his Dark cred to Snoke. He focused his inborn anger on Han Solo, like Rey is focusing her inherent Darkness on him now. It is a mistake that haunts him. Killing his father did nothing to resolve the pain of years of neglect and abandonment. The sweet relief that violence promised was a lie. And now, it’s too late to change things. There will never be a satisfactory ending for him and his father. 

And so, Kylo tells Rey the ugly truth. “That pain you feel is not me and not the war—that pain is the conflict in your soul. You are torn by your very nature. You will never be rid of it. You must embrace it. You cannot end it.”

He should know. For something has been broken in him for as long as he can remember. He has tried to fix it through power and through blood . . . through achievements and headlines . . . through communing with artifacts and killing his father. And lately, through championing the dregs of the galaxy on a damned fool’s crusade for revolution. Nothing has ever worked, and nothing ever will . . . but balance, he suspects. For his temperament as a Skywalker means he can neither succeed in the role of Light Side Jedi nor achieve the unwavering commitment to Darkness required of a Sith. He’s unsuited to both religions, by his very nature incapable of their extremes. So will it be with Rey, he believes. 

But she is adamant. “There is no conflict!”

He grimaces and starts spitting more truth. “Can you see yourself? A yellow eyed Jedi! Rey, you are the picture of conflict.”

“You lie!” She punctuates her words with a vicious swipe. 

The near miss has Kylo rethinking his resolve to remain unarmed. His sword now leaps to his grip and ignites purely out of self-preservation. He doesn’t want to harm Rey, he wants to help her. But still, the battle is joined, despite his best intentions to the contrary. 

Rey smiles as their sabers meet with a resounding crack of static. In the moment, she’s an ugly and unnerving sight. Kylo instantly decides he doesn’t like Sith assassin Rey. This version of his girl is so wrong. He knows Rey fears going Dark as much as she fears being alone. And yet here she is, yellow eyed and intent on killing the one person in the universe who can understand her plight. Kylo is horrified by how far she has fallen . . . and by how fast. 

He disengages. “I will not fight you.” He pities her more than anything.

She hisses back, “You are unwise to lower your defenses.” Rey’s swinging wildly now, like she’s wielding her staff in the desert and not a lightsaber in a duel. It’s blind rage, Kylo recognizes. Dark power uncontrolled and rampant. She tries a Force push, but he blocks it.

This is wrong . . . this is so, so wrong. Kylo is heartsick that things have come to this. He doesn’t want to fight Rey, but he feels there is no other option. She doesn’t want to kill him, but she feels driven to it as her best solution. It’s like they are both going through the motions, rehearsing old arguments their predecessors mouthed as they reenact showdowns from bygone eras. This is why history repeats itself—because the past refuses to die. Kylo Ren is sick of it. 

They have wandered far from her parked X-wing now. All activity in the hangar bay has ceased while his crew looks on. Their audience thinks this is the main event of the ongoing civil war. They don’t know their leader is not fighting to win. Actually, that goal makes this duel especially dangerous. Rey doesn’t fight in expected ways following the typical attack patterns and classic defenses. She improvises. As a result, she’s hard to anticipate. It makes her a formidable opponent if you’re trying to win, and it makes her a very difficult opponent if you’re aiming for a draw, like he is now.

So, he tries another persuasion tactic. “Strike me down and I will always be with you. What the Force has joined together, you cannot put asunder. Kill me and you kill part of yourself.” 

She doesn’t seem to care. “I want to be free of this pain!” 

He understands . . . oh, how he understands. So again, he tries to explain. “Killing me won’t end the conflict. It was born into you, like it was born into me. We are Skywalkers.”

“I will do what I must. This is for the good of the galaxy. I am a Jedi,” Rey announces with no sense of irony. “Like your uncle before me . . . like your mother.”

Enough of that Jedi talk. “Stop it! Just stop it!” he commands, warning, “I am not the only one whose wrath you tempt.”

“I’m not afraid of Darth Sidious,” she snorts.

  
  
“I’m not talking about your grandfather.” He’s talking about Darth Plagueis whose patience has limits. “If you draw him out of exile, I cannot save you. You know that, right?” He’s no match for that zombie Muun, and he knows it. 

Rey is unconcerned. “I’ll take the risk! If you die, the First Order will fall apart again. The Republic will win and the new Jedi will rise.” 

Looking at his yellow-eyed girlfriend, Kylo thinks he’s all that stands between her and the Dark throne Darth Sidious offered at Exogol. Because whatever cult Dark Rey will revive, it sure won’t be the Jedi. The moment he’s dead, old Sheev Palpatine will crawl out from his hiding place and snare her into his clutches.

But there’s no point in telling her that. Like all those futile years she spent waiting on Jakku, Rey is in deep, deep denial. So Kylo argues against her logic. “You can’t win. Our mutual friend will only bring me back again.”

“Not if I can stop him.”

“You won’t stop him. He’ll destroy you, he’ll destroy the Republic, he’ll destroy all of it!” Darth Plagueis could do it too. 

“Fine! Maybe it’s better that way,” desperate Rey veers hard into nihilism. “If there’s only one of us, there will be less strife and less war . . . things will be decided and one side can move forward.”

That is the tired old failed solution of the Jedi-Sith era. It’s kept the galaxy reeling from a vicious cycle of civil war as things lurch from extreme to extreme. Kylo is exasperated. “You’re missing the point of us! Rey, we are supposed to push and pull. That’s how we will get to a new equilibrium.”

“Balance?” she guesses, rolling her eyes.

“Yes! The bond pulls us together even as circumstances push us apart. We are archetypes, but we are people too. On Jakku, you yourself said we’d made a mistake by not leaving together.” At the time, Kylo had been very encouraged by her regret.

Rey keeps swinging even as she laments, “It’s too late for that.”

“Yes, but the pull is still so strong, isn’t it?” he presses. “I feel the call to the Light and to you . . . you are drawn to flirt with Darkness and with me. We vacillate to extremes, you and I. It’s in our nature. It’s why I am the only person who can help you. Rey, I know how you feel.” He’s full of compassion for her current state. 

She rebuffs him. “I don’t need your help.”

“You need it desperately.” 

His battle strategy is to find an opening to disarm her. Unfortunately, Rey knows it. She’s making it difficult. And so, their brawl keeps going. She’s not tiring and neither is he. How does this end? Kylo can’t help but see the parallels for the ongoing war. It too will keep grinding on because the two sides are evenly matched.

That uncomfortable thought prompts him to step back. Again, he attempts to disengage. “Rey, I will not fight you.”

“If you will not fight, then you will meet your destiny.” She comes at him, charging. And now their swords are connecting once again as she vents her fury.

He complains, “What brought this on? Is it just Jakku?”

“If I don’t kill you, they will send Finn.”

“He’s no threat.”

“I know! He’s untrained. Ben, he’s my friend. I won’t let you kill him!”

“If they send him, I will kill him.”

“I know!” she wails again. “It’s why I have to kill you first.” She means it, too. She has that look in her eye from the Starkiller forest. From when she called him a monster and decided to kill him. His girl is always trying to kill him. From their first meeting in the Takodana woods to this latest duel. They meet and they fight. It’s what they do. Try as he might, Kylo can’t seem to break them of this habit. 

Rey now tosses a TIE fighter at him. It’s so effortless, she might as well be tossing a child’s ball. Luckily, it’s an unwieldy object that’s easy to dodge. He leaps out of the way of the careening ship with the help of the Force. 

Rey looks proud of herself. “I’m from Jakku, I fight dirty,” she boasts.

He refuses to be goaded into responding in kind. Plus, he hates to throw around stuff in a fight. There’s a greater chance that he will trip over it than that it will fell his opponent. 

Rey unsuccessfully tosses another TIE at him before she tires of that ploy. She moves back to swinging fast and furiously in a classic sword duel. She gets him close enough to land a kick on his chest. He goes down, but easily blocks her coup de grace. She’s frustrated that he escapes and is back on his feet unharmed.

They circle one another while the entire _Resurgence_ hangar bay looks on. Seeking to avoid more risky swordplay, Kylo now tries to distance Rey from her friends’ politics. If he can’t persuade her to join him, maybe he can persuade her to leave them. 

“There is no compromise in FN-2187 or in any of the rest of your friends. It’s why their Republic is doomed to fail. Democracy demands compromise. It won’t work if everyone stands on principle.”

“I know,” she concedes.

“Dameron and your Chancellor speak of the sacred right to vote in hushed reverence but they plan to deny it to a third of the galaxy. Such hypocrisy!”

“I know,” she sighs.

“They’re afraid of the will of the people. They know that our ideas have merit. So they vilify us, hoping to quell the message.”

“I know.” Rey looks frustrated. The bond tells him she agrees with him far more than she lets on. 

He continues, “I recognize Darkness when I see it! Do not underestimate the power of fear and hatred to overwhelm everything else. It’s happened to you. It’s happening to your Republic. It will happen to the entire galaxy soon.”

She doesn’t dispute him. She just grumbles, “We know that you’re winning.”

Winning? He doesn’t feel like he’s winning. “I’m winning the battle but losing the war.” 

The comment sets her off. “You're winning it all! That’s why I’m here--to stop you!”

Kylo shakes his head. “I’m not winning what matters. I’m losing at balance and I’m losing you. Rey, don’t give in to hate.”

“I haven’t given in the hate,” she bristles. “I’m not killing what I hate, I’m saving what I love. I’m saving truth, justice, freedom, and the Light. I will do what I must for the Republic.”

“You should do what’s right for balance,” he corrects her.

“Stop lecturing me!” 

She’s tiring now. It makes her especially ragged. He nearly takes her arm off when she doesn’t feint as quickly as he expects. Yikes! That was close. She knows it, too. Rey shoots him a look so cold it would freeze water on hot Jakku.

Her timing is off, and unfortunately, he’s also getting sloppy. Because as he attempts to push back Rey’s latest aggressive drive, he miscalculates by an inch. It causes the upward arcing lunge he’s expecting her to parry to connect. Too late she tries to block it. Too late he realizes his error. Momentum keeps him going. It drags his sword tip deep across Rey’s midsection. 

She cries out in pain and staggers back.

The duel is over. He has just won the contest he never wished to fight. 

Kylo watches in horror as Rey buckles and sinks to her knees, clutching her waist. Her saber extinguishes and falls to roll away. She groans. Her sunkissed face pales.

“NO!” he gasps as he perceives what he has done.

Rey says nothing. She just pulls back her hand to look. It’s bloody and dripping. She replaces it fast, but it does little to stem the torrent of blood gushing forth.

Through the bond Kylo feels her pain. It’s searing, crippling, take-your-breath-away agony. His girl is tough, but she’s no match for this injury. She whispers, “Help,” before she goes down fully.

“REY!” He turns off his sword as he dives for where she lays sprawled on her back on the ground. “REY!” He begins babbling as he huddles over her, grabbing for her hand. “I’m sorry! Stay with me--stay with me!”

He’s got his fucking gloves on. He rips them off, wanting their bare skin to connect. To give his girl a human touch. “Stay with me!”

“You killed me . . . ” Rey looks dazed. Like she can’t quite believe it. 

He hollers, “Medic! Get me a medic!” over his shoulder.

“You killed me . . . ” Her eyes are unfocused. Her breathing is shallow. Kylo has seen enough combat to know those are bad signs. 

“Let me see.” Still clutching her hand, Kylo looks down at her wound and gulps. It sure looks mortal. Lightsabers can make clean cauterized amputations, deadly puncture wounds from stabs, and painful, slashing burns. But when they hook into the body, they tend to carve out deep wounds that gut into internal organs. That appears to be what happened here.

“H-How b-bad?”

“It’s uh . . . just a scratch. Help is coming.”

She knows he’s lying. “I always thought it would end like this . . . ” 

“Help is coming.”

“It’s o-okay, Ben . . . I s-started it.” She starts repeating her earlier Dark death wish solution now. “One of these times, one of us was g-going to win. That was why . . . I c-came . . . ” Her voice is growing weaker as she struggles. “I h-hope . . . you find . . . balance. Next t-time . . . find a g-girl who agrees with you . . . ” She manages an unsteady smile. There are tears in her eyes. The hand he’s holding trembles as she starts to convulse.

“There is you--only you, Rey,” he promises. She is a gift to him. One half of an historic dyad that will balance the Force. Kylo turns to yell over his again shoulder. “Get me a medic!” He refuses to let her go.

“Ben . . . ”

“Hold still. Don’t talk.” Again, he yells. “Get me a medic!”

“In another t-time . . . in a different s-setting . . . we could have been happy . . . ”

“GET ME A MEDIC!” He gathers Rey close with one arm as he applies pressure to her wound with the other. It’s a futile effort given the amount of hot, sticky blood pouring forth, but he refuses to give up. “Hold still . . . hang on . . . keep breathing . . . help is coming . . . ”

Rey keeps talking, wasting her strength. “The F-Force is with you. Everyone who t-tries to stop you fails. Luke . . . your mother . . . Darth Sidious . . . even me . . .”

She’s right. Nothing can stop him because the Force is with him. Miserable and heartsick, Kylo knows that’s why he is the victor today. He’s winning but he’s losing, all because the Force is with him.

_The Force is with him_. 

Of course! He doesn’t need a medic, all he needs is the Force. He abruptly shifts Rey in his lap. 

“Oooh,” she groans in pain.

“Sorry,” he yelps. “I want to try to heal you.” He did this once before on Exogol, so he will at least make an attempt to save her now. Rey’s the one who’s good at this, but she sure doesn’t look like she can heal herself. But it’s so hard to focus. His mind is overwhelmed with guilt, stress, and fear. How did he do this before? Most of what happened right before he died is a complete blur in his memory. The best he can recall, he acted on impulse. But Rey’s convulsing again and that is freaking him out. There isn’t much time. He’s losing her.

“Let go . . .” he counsels himself out loud. “Let go and find the Force.” Those are the words of his first Jedi Master and also his introductory teaching from Snoke. _Let go of your conscious self. Let the Force flow through you_. For be it Dark or Light, the first step in training is to find the Force. To surrender to the ultimate power in the universe. It obeys your commands but it also controls your actions. Kylo is hoping for the latter just now for he knows nothing of clinical medicine. He’s not going to even try to make any intentional actions to heal Rey. He will simply let the Force guide him, as he always does in moments of extreme risk. _Trust in the Force._

“Let go . . .” he keeps talking himself through it. “Let go . . .” He closes his eyes and lets his consciousness blur into his surroundings. It’s a familiar sensation to reach for the Force, but this time he doesn’t angrily demand Darkness obey his command. Instead, he beseeches the Light for mercy. He’s long out of practice from his Jedi days, but he worked on this connection some on Zakuul while teaching Rey. Will the Light come? And for him of all people? He’s no reformed sinner seeking redemption. He’s not on his knees begging for reconciliation. This is a purely selfish endeavor: he wants is to erase his mistake and to save the girl he will love if only she will let him. 

Will the Light answer his call? Will it save the dyad it created? It does. Of course, it does. The Force never deserts a Skywalker. One and all, his kind fall victim to their own misjudgments, never to the neglect or wrath of their god.

The Light Side arrives as a pulsing, vibrant swell of power. The primal life force that animates us all overtakes him in an instant. This is the magic that soothes the mind, placates the soul, and renews the body. But most importantly, it heals. It’s everything Rey needs right now. Kylo himself does nothing. He is merely a passive conduit of power. The Force rushes to him, and from him to Rey. He knows what will follow, and yet he is still astounded as the gaping gash across her middle knits itself back together in seconds. 

Rey knows what’s happening through the bond. She’s relaxed under his touch. Her face is wide-eyed and her mouth a round ‘oh’ of surprise. She looks enraptured.

As soon as her skin is closed over and her cheeks have color, Kylo wrenches back his hand and his mind in self-preservation. He doesn’t want a repeat of what happened last time. Even now, he feels very spent. The effort those few seconds of healing required is considerable. No wonder it killed him to revive her on Exogol.

Invigorated Rey begins to squirm in his lap, twisting as she sits up to inspect her wound. Yet again, they have switched places. For now, he’s the unsteady and weak one, and she’s recovered.

“Are you okay??” he rasps, feeling lightheaded.

“Yeah . . . yeah, I think I am. Are you?”

He ignores the question. He’s too concerned about her. Rey’s bent over, blocking his view. “Are you sure? Move. Let me see.” 

He pushes her back so he can inspect her midsection. “I think it’s healed,” he concludes.

“Yes, I feel fine.” Rey grins at him, a little breathless. He feels her swelling gratitude through the bond. All her anger seems to have receded with his healing. “You did it again—you saved me!” She looks giddy with relief and delight. It’s exactly how he feels himself.

But the miracles don’t stop there. With enormous satisfaction, he sees that Rey’s eyes are normal once more. The yellow hue of Darkness is gone. It must be a consequence of his infusion of Light. Somehow, he has healed both her suffering flesh and her suffering soul. His Light has banished her Darkness. Or maybe balanced it. He’s not sure. But whatever happened, Kylo is utterly humbled by the awesome power of the Force. 

“What?” Rey is worried at his serious expression.

He reaches to brush a stray strand of hair away from her forehead. “Your eyes are normal again.”

She looks down and he feels her embarrassment through the bond. Rey doesn’t want to admit that her eyes were yellow or that she was Dark. “I’m . . . I’m sorry for how I acted . . .” she sputters. “It’s just . . .”

“This is hard,” he finishes for her. 

She nods. “Very hard.”

“Killing each other isn’t the solution.”

Rey puts a reflexive hand to her healed stomach and grumbles, “At this point, I’m not sure the Force will let us kill one another.”

“I hope not. But we need to stop fighting.” Today was a close call. He’s kicking himself for panicking and not trying to heal her straightaway. “This is not the way to end the war.”

“No more fighting,” she sheepishly agrees. Then, she squints at him, “That was the Light--you used the Light to heal me.”

“Yes. It’s like you said. I’m wasn’t killing what I hate, I was saving what I love.” In this case, intent matters. “The Force let me save you with the Light.” Does she understand the significance of his feat? He’s a Sith Apprentice who just healed with the Light. “Rey . . . oh Rey,” he whispers, his voice cracking, “let this dispel any doubt. The Force is with me and with you. We are destiny.” If Exogol didn’t prove it, then today did.

She nods slowly, looking a bit scared. Kylo feels through the bond her acceptance at long last. It floods him with intense relief. Because together he and Rey can tackle any challenge, even Darth Sidious. 

But he needs her all-in. So, he demands, “Say it! Say it--we are destiny!”

She doesn’t say it. Instead, she leans in to kiss him on the lips in front of everyone. And yeah . . . that will suffice. If anyone doubted that she is the missus, the public kiss confirms it.

Red-faced Rey grins and, heedless of their audience, he beams back.

But a shadow crosses her features. Rey worries, “Are you going to die now?”

“I don't know. Kiss me again and let’s see.”

She scowls. “That’s not funny!”

Kylo can’t help himself. He looks down, then shudders, and pretends to falter some. Next, he slumps.

Rey immediately sits up to grab for him. “Ben!”

Is this working? Yes, it’s working. “Rey . . . “ he sighs theatrically, “Pass on what you have learned . . . ”

“Ben! No! Nooooo!” Rey starts shrieking in distress. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me again!” 

His girl is totally falling for his act. And why not? It must seem like the latest craziness in their tumultuous, improbable relationship. Because things like this can and do happen with them. 

Rey is tugging on him none too gently now. Her eyes overspill with emotion. She’s panicking. “Ben, I neeeeed you! Don’t leeeeave me again! You said I’m not alone!” Her fingers are clamping down hard on his arms. Rey is fully prepared to tussle with the Force in a tug-of-war if it decides to take him. It’s clear that she’s not letting go. It’s adorable and so her.

Time to fess up. His eyes pop open and he laughs. “Ha! Gotcha!”

Rey is not amused. She pushes him back hard as he tries to sit up. “That is NOT funny!”

He thinks it’s hilarious. “You slay me, Rey. You really do,” he snorts at his own joke.

“THAT IS NOT FUNNY!” 

“You did come here to kill me, remember?” The irony of how this has played out is truly ridiculous but completely lost on Rey.

Huffing hard, she climbs to her feet and looks ready to resume the earlier duel. As she calls her castoff saber to her grip, for a second he thinks she will. But she stows the sword at her waist and then retrieves his weapon with the Force. “Here!” she grunts. “Now, get up! I don’t like you on the floor. It makes me think you may still disappear.”

“Sorry, milady,” Kylo drawls as he stands up with restored weapon and bloodstained gloves. And wow, does he feel exhausted. No wonder she thought he was dying.

But is she truly alright? Rey’s got her tart tongue back along with her habitual frown. She’s standing upright and seems recovered. But still . . . that saber swing pretty much eviscerated her. It left a huge wound that seems impossible to recover from so quickly, even with Force healing. And while he doesn’t sense any pain in the bond, adrenaline might be masking it. 

Worried, he wants to confirm. “Seriously, Rey. Tell me—are you sure you’re alright?” Because if so, he has an idea. A crazy idea. Like it or not, he was Darth Sidious’ Apprentice and that means he has a strategic mind honed by Sith training. And so, as Kylo now looks at his recovered beloved, he sees leverage.

“Yes,” Rey replies firmly. “I feel fine.” She twists her jaw and issues a pseudo-apology. “I guess I deserved that prank . . .”

“You are forgiven. Come here,” he invites, opening his arms. The entire hangar bay witnesses the Supreme Leader asking for a hug.

“Oh, okay,” she relents. Rey promptly throws herself into his arms and buries her face in his chest. 

Kylo can’t resist. He closes his eyes for a brief moment to revel in her embrace. He’s so used to Rey rejecting him. Moments like this are rare.

“Good,” he whispers down into her ear, holding her close. “Gooood.” Satisfied that she truly is fine, he waves his free hand and catches her unaware. Rey immediately slumps as he steals her consciousness with the Force. He might have been the Light Side hero moments ago, but in this act, he is a crafty Dark Sith. The Force sent Rey here to kill him so that they could reconcile. It presents an opportunity Kylo does not intend to waste.

Scooping Rey up high in his arms, he barks at the confused Colonel Crassus who has approached. “Alert the media team. Tell them to meet me in the detention center. We’re going to record a message for the enemy.”

“Sir?”

“Time for an ultimatum,” Kylo plots. Then he limps off wearily with his scavenger girl safe in his arms. 

At the detention center, he stages the backdrop perfectly. Rey is his prop. Once more she is strapped to an interrogation chair in a jail cell. She appears unconscious, her clothes bloodstained from her now healed wound. It’s a dramatic, gory tableau with Rey displayed as the helpless, vanquished Jedi and him as the gloating, victorious Sith. Kylo is deliberately amping up the scary theatrics. He needs all the implicit menace he can muster for his big pitch.

It’s time to catch the Republic off guard with an offer he hopes they cannot refuse. For weeks, Kylo has been pondering the endgame for the war, and he keeps coming back to the same two-state solution. If he can, he will partition the galaxy into two sovereign, politically independent territories. The Republic and his First Order Empire will exist side-by-side within secure and recognized borders, with neutral trade zones and maybe even a few shared hyperspace routes. All hostilities will cease and the war will end with a negotiated peace. He will claim the vast majority of the systems from a territorial perspective, but the Republic keeps the Core worlds with their enormous wealth and dense urban populations. 

Kylo thinks of it akin to his parents’ divorce: the Core and the Rim are like a couple with irreconcilable differences and diverging interests who decide to go their separate ways to end the conflict. There will still be ongoing interactions—the Core needs the Rim for manufacturing and raw materials, and the Rim needs the Core for capital and markets for finished goods. That’s all fine. The more interconnected the two economies are the better, Kylo thinks. For that will incentivize both sides to keep the peace. 

But how to get the Republic to agree? A threat, naturally.

He tapes a brief, terse message standing before Rey strapped on the torture rack. He offers an olive branch and also brandishes a stick. Then, he throws in unwitting Rey as an inducement.

He begins the recording with a mocking sneer. “I have something of yours. This is the third time you’ve sent her to kill me . . . and the third time she has failed.”

The camera zooms in on captured, bloody Rey for some lurid closeups. Then, its focus is back on him. 

“She cannot stop me. You cannot stop me. Nothing will stop me.”

He’s doing his very best master-of-the-universe Sith posturing. Speaking with slow unfolding intensity that makes a chest thumping boast sound like a lyric poem. He’s the Supreme Leader now, and he can’t stoop to hurling snarling threats at his enemy. He’s a more sophisticated sort of adversary than his Apprentice days.

“I give you a choice: you can relinquish control of the Rim—both the inner and outer systems—to the First Order permanently under a negotiated ceasefire and peace accord . . . ”

He pauses to let that bold ask sink in. You can’t rush these things, or you ruin the effect. Has that been long enough? He now issues an outlandish threat.

“Or, I will invade the Core.” 

This is the move he has been subtly teasing off and on through backchannels for months now. It started out as a ridiculous taunt just to tweak the Republic to see how they reacted. It worked. They took him seriously, and the First Order has been feeding that paranoia ever since. Time to lean into their fear, Kylo decides, as he starts chewing the scenery like old Snoke liked to do. 

“I will come for Coruscant, I will level Chandrila, I will raze Correllia, Kuat, and Praxlis. The Haves will experience what it feels like to be a Have Not. They will know siege, they will know famine, they will know scarcity and terror. They will know what it means to be hopeless and abandoned, to have their misery be ignored. I will make the Core into the Rim and our revenge will be complete.”

“The choice is yours. Convene your leaders. Debate. Take a vote,” he smirks, his voice laden with sarcasm. “You have twenty-four hours. And if you accept in twelve,” he gestures magnanimously to sleeping Rey, “I will give you back your Jedi alive.”

“A refusal will result in more death and much suffering. So choose wisely,” he admonishes. Looking directly into the camera, Kylo does his best to emulate the smooth guile of his mentor, the very ironically democratically elected Chancellor Palpatine, Darth Sidious. With the hint of a genial smile about his lips, Kylo urges, “Choose peace,” like he’s the good guy.

Done. He instructs the media types, “Edit it how you like. I want to approve the final version before we send it.”

Across the room, disapproving Colonel Crassus chokes. “Wait, Sir, we want peace?”

“We do now. We are the ones who want a peaceful, amicable coexistence. My mother always did this—she grabbed the moral high ground every chance she could.”

He shouldn’t have said that. References to Leia Organa make everyone nervous. One of the media types outright whines, “But we want to destroy the Republic.”

“Indeed. We don’t actually have to abide by our own peace terms forever,” he reminds everyone present. To affirm his Sith cred, he dutifully purrs, “Peace is a lie.”

The Colonel brightens. “We’re lulling them into thinking the war is over?”

He nods. “We are declaring victory for over half the galaxy and getting the enemy to voluntarily withdraw from the occupied systems we don’t have the means to liberate. It will save lives and save resources.”

The Colonel summarizes, “This is a Dooku move. A secession.”

“Yes, except this time, the war came first. This will reset things to our advantage,” Kylo hopes, “and buy us time to regroup and rebuild so we can catch the Republic unaware in the future.”

He now turns to the media team to instruct, “Keep the spin positive and high-minded. We are the ones who want to spare the galaxy’s citizens more pain. If the Republic chooses war, we will give them war. But we are offering peace.”

“We’re making them be the bad guys?”

“Exactly.”

“Understood, Sir.”

The media team withdraws to get to work. When they are gone, the always discrete Colonel Crassus worries aloud, “Sir, we only have rudimentary plans for invading the Core. And we lack the resources to implement them.”

Kylo freely admits, “It’s a bluff.”

The Colonel is clearly skeptical of the tactic, but he phrases it neutrally. “Sir, no one doubts that you want to invade the Core. Not after Hosnia. But they may doubt whether you can do it now. They know a lot more about our true capabilities of late.”

That’s correct. But as usual, his military minds are thinking of conventional warfare. He is not. “Colonel, you misunderstand how terrorism works. We don’t have to invade and control the Core to make good on my threat. We just have to blow up enough museums, universities, corporate headquarters, and civic landmarks to scare them. Fear is our true weapon. Fear is highly motivating.”

But the Colonel remains stuck in his old school mindset. “Is this the Tarkin Doctrine at work? Because that would be a lot more effective if we had Starkiller Base,” he points out.

“True,” Kylo concedes. “But I come from a family of Rebel terrorists. I know what destruction determined people can do. If need be, we will use the Republic’s precious freedoms against them. An open society is an easy society to infiltrate. All that liberty is a weakness to exploit.”

The Colonel eyes him before speaking with a frankness Kylo has come to value. “We’re taking an awful risk, Sir. This had better work.”

“They may refuse, but most likely this will become the beginning of a protracted negotiation,” he predicts.

Crassus looks dubious. “Do we need to plan a small-scale attack for if they refuse?”

“Yes. Make it three or four separate attacks on different worlds. Pick any systems you want so long as one is Coruscant. Blow up something visible and important. Be sure to maximize the casualties. Fear is the goal.”

“Yes, Sir.” The Imperial veteran’s lined eyes dart behind them to Rey. “Your . . . uh . . . wife won’t like this . . . ”

Kylo glances over at Rey. She’s his sleeping beauty of the Force who destiny made his dyad and war made his enemy. But today, at least, they reached a tentative accord . . . he hopes. Flashing a fleeting, wry smile as he answers the Colonel. “Actually, I’m hoping she will love it.” Rey came here in a misguided effort to the end the war, after all.

She is his sacrifice, Kylo realizes suddenly. She is what he must forfeit for peace. He will never sell this deal to the Republic without their Jedi mascot safely returned, hopefully to act as his clandestine advocate. That means the enemy’s gain will be his loss. For finally, Rey comes to him and circumstances force him to send her away. Once again, they must endure a near miss at happiness. And honestly, he’s resigned to that fate. For as champions of the Light and the Dark, he and Rey are the star-crossed lovers of the galaxy. It’s never been about what they want for themselves, and it never will be.

And if the Republic refuses? Well, he’ll figure that out as he goes along. But if they refuse, he’s keeping Rey as his consolation prize, whether or not she agrees. For too long, they have been apart.


	22. chapter 22

Awareness creeps in slowly for Rey. She’s lying on her side somewhere soft but it’s not a bed. It’s a couch, her groggy mind deduces, as she blinks fully awake. She sees a large panoramic window filled with undulating blue eddies and swirls. It’s instantly recognizable as the potent energy of hyperspace. The rest of the room is an opaque, shadowy mystery. There’s only the window and the tall man standing silhouetted against it, facing away.

It’s Ben.

He has shed the cape, and with it the public persona of Kylo Ren. His hands are clasped before him. It gives him slightly rounded shoulders. He is pensive, she senses. Anxious and jumpy. Worried, but trying not to show it.

“You’re awake.” Ben says the words before he turns around to face her. She sees that his expression is subdued. His looks tired. 

“Force sleep?” she guesses as she props herself up on one elbow. 

“I wanted you to rest.”

“I hate it when you do that,” she complains. It’s a very aggressive way to get someone to take some downtime. “Where am I?” Rey sits fully up and looks around, squinting a bit from the blue glare that pours through the giant window.

“You’re my guest. These are my quarters.”

“Oh. This doesn’t look like your quarters.” She remembers a lot of white when she came to steal back Ochi’s blade. It had been such a striking contrast to Ben’s Dark warrior persona.

“Your friends blew my old ship up while we were on Zakuul. This is where I live now.”

That’s right. She forgot. “It looks like the old wrecks back home.” She keeps going with this safe, meaningless small talk. Stalling before they start in on the real conversation she knows is coming. Ben looks very pensive, so whatever he’s about to tell her isn’t good.

“Not much has changed in star destroyer design since the last war.” 

“Yeah . . . yeah, I see that.”

He walks to hover over her. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” Pretty good, actually.

“While you were out, a medic droid checked you over to confirm you’re fully healed. The droid also put a bacta graft on your arm.”

“What happened to my arm?” She looks down at her hands with alarm.

“It was a scar from an old wound.”

“Oh, that.” She reaches to finger the mark high on her right arm and touches the graft bandage instead.

“What’s it from?”

“Snoke’s throne room. A guard left me a souvenir.”

“The scar should fade over the next few days.”

“Okay. Thanks, I guess.” She’s never been concerned about the scar, but Ben clearly is. It makes her feel badly about the slash mark she made across his face during the Starkiller duel.

He’s in her thoughts. “It’s fine. I barely notice it now.”

Rey doesn’t want to talk about fighting, especially after their latest battle. Besides, she has more mundane, but pressing concerns. “Where’s the . . . uh—"

“That way.” He gestures towards the bathroom.

“Thanks.” She stands and heads that direction. As she walks, Ben gestures with his right hand. It turns on recessed lighting for his rooms. A second wave of that same hand activates the window blinds with the Force. Suddenly, it’s a lot less dim and a lot less blue.

“Feel free to clean up in there. Use the shower. You’re a mess,” he calls after her.

“Yeah, I’m all sand and blood.”

“Wash up. You’ll feel better. We’ll talk afterwards.”

She’s in no hurry to talk about serious things or to confront her actions in the hangar bay, so she takes a long shower. Ben must have retrieved her things from the _Falcon_ because he left the fancy pink dress his grandmother bought her hanging conspicuously to be put on. Rey ignores that option and goes searching through his things in the adjacent closet. She emerges with damp hair, wearing one of his black undershirts and boxer shorts. Both are long and loose, but at least she’s sufficiently covered and no longer wearing bloody, ripped clothes. And she does feel better.

Ben has resumed standing by the window when she walks out. He’s on his comlink giving orders. “If they ask for a delay, tell them no. The deadline holds.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I want to know immediately when they respond.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Send me the updated target list and revised mission plans, and I’ll make a decision.”

“Right away, Sir.”

Ben hangs up and turns around. He looks her over but says nothing.

She senses in the bond that he’s disappointed she didn’t put on the dress—he takes it as a rejection. But he’s also encouraged by her willingness to wear his clothes. She realizes belatedly that it’s a rather intimate thing to don someone’s undergarments and emerge barefoot into their living room.

“I scavenged a bit . . . ” she explains, feeling her cheeks redden.

Ben just nods. 

It’s suddenly awkward and stilted as they stand meters apart. Uh oh. Here comes the serious conversation. Rey girds herself for their next argument.

He knows it, too. “I don’t want to fight any more.”

Has the fight gone out of him? Because the fight has gone out of her. Rey exhales her relief. “Good. I don’t either.”

“I mean it.” His tone is firm. “I know Jakku has you primed for violence because conflicts there were resolved with fight or flight. But I won’t do that with you any longer. You got me on Endor and I got you today. We’re even. Let’s call it a draw.”

“Alright. Er . . . sorry about earlier . . . when I arrived . . . ”

“It is done and you are forgiven. The point is not to do it again.” He must not be convinced that she’s truly contrite because he becomes emphatic. “Rey, we have to stop fighting. It settles nothing.”

She dutifully concedes, “Fighting doesn’t solve anything.”

Pragmatic as always, he corrects her. “Fighting only solves things if there’s a winner. When we fight, we both lose. No one wins.”

“Okay.” No more fighting, she’s got it.

“I’m hoping not to fight with the Republic before long either.”

Is that Ben’s segue into a retreat? She blinks in pleasant surprise. “You’re surrendering?” It comes out sounding hopeful.

He frowns. “No. I want to end the war with a ceasefire.”

A ceasefire. Rey puzzles as she digests the idea. “That means we both lay down arms?”

He nods, “No one wins, no one loses. We just end it as things stand and move forward.”

“Like us.” She’s beginning to understand that Ben’s ‘no more fighting’ pitch is not just for them personally. It’s his solution for the galaxy at large.

“Yes,” he replies gravely, “like us.”

Oh. She starts teasing out details. “I guess you keep the Rim?”

“And you keep the Core.”

“What about democracy?”

“You can do what you want on your turf. We will rule our side how we see fit.”

“I see.” They’d be consigning much of the galaxy to fascist rule. General Organa would never go for that. She’d consider any portion of the Republic lost to the First Order to be a defeat.

Ben’s in her thoughts again. He informs her, “Leia Organa is dead. Likely because the Force knew she would be an impediment to a deal like this. There was a lot more principle in my mother than there was compromise.”

Rey bristles at the criticism of her much-admired mentor while Ben steps forward and starts laying on the hard sell. “I want to make peace, and I want you to help me. You have the standing within the Republic to persuade your friends.”

Does she? She left the Republic because she was having doubts . . . and both Finn and Poe know it. Sheepishly, Rey confesses, “I don’t know if I have much influence these days.”

“You do after today.”

She doesn’t really understand that comment. But the whole topic is confounding. She’s wary of being recruited to be Ben’s spy once again. So, she punts. “I don’t know. Let me think about it—"

“No,” Ben digs in. “This is a ripe issue. I’ve already made the offer. Any minute now, I could get a response.”

“What offer?”

“Here. Watch.” He nabs a datapad off a table and approaches to hand it over. It’s open to a recording that she taps to play.

Rey watches the entire message before she reacts. “You used me! You made me a prop!” 

“I did it for peace.”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

Ben doesn’t care. He is righteous about it, too. “I will do what it takes to end this war.”

Maybe so, but he’s assuming too much about her stroke with her friends. “You’ve got this all wrong!” she huffs. “The Republic didn’t send me. No one even knew I was coming today--I did this on my own!”

“It was what they wanted.”

“Yes, but—“

“Who sent you doesn’t matter. The point is that now they will think you’re with them, valiant as ever. You just proved it. Thanks to me, you’ll be back in their good graces and they will listen to you.”

Rey is dubious. “Will they?”

“They will. I know how those Republic types think.”

She scowls down at the datapad which currently shows a freeze frame of her laid out as the backdrop to his ultimatum. She shakes her head and mutters in disgust, “Only you could be so bold . . .”

He takes that as a compliment. “They never need to know what really happened here . . . they never need to know what we are to each other. I set us up perfectly.”

_Us_. He’s enlisting her for more deception. She was hoping to end all that. And what are they to each other exactly? She doesn’t honestly know. “You want me to be your spy again?”

“I want an ally. You would be an advocate for peace. A voice for compromise.”

“With you listening in through my mind?”

“This time, I’m hoping you’re on my side. Will you do it?” he presses.

Rey doesn’t answer. She’s floored by the brashness of his ultimatum and still processing its implications. “A standard day . . . that’s not much time.”

“I wanted to create a sense of urgency.”

“You did that. What time is it now on Coruscant?”

“That message was posted almost eight hours ago.”

“Posted? Who has seen this message?

“Everyone.”

“Everyone at the Republic leadership?”

“Everyone in the galaxy. I put it on the holonet.”

“You put it on the holonet?” she chokes, then realizes aloud, “You put it on the holonet to maximize the pressure . . . to create fear . . .”

“Of course.”

This is a classic strong-arm tactic of a Sith. It’s not going to go over well. “I doubt Finn and Poe will stand for this. And the Chancellor wants your head on a stick. No one trusts you.” 

He doesn’t dispute the point. “It will take you to persuade them to compromise.”

“And your people? They will accept this?” His supporters scream chants of ‘Lock her up!’ for the new Chancellor. Some go much farther with their vicious personal threats. It makes Rey doubt that the First Order rank and file will be content with claiming only half the galaxy. There is a lot of scary energy behind their ‘make the galaxy great again’ manifesto to turn back the clock to the Empire days by dismantling the New Republic.

Ben is unconcerned. “I can sell this. Besides, my people mostly do what they’re told.”

Even if that’s true, will Ben himself accept peace? Rey poses the question. “Will you abide by the terms of a deal? Or is this just a ruse?”

“I will respect whatever is mutually agreed. I want real peace.” Ben’s sincerity resonates in the Force. It mollifies her somewhat.

Rey watches the recording a second time, trying to ignore her personal role in the stunt to focus on the larger issues at stake.

Ben must see that he’s making headway. He moves to loom over her shoulder like some bad angel whispering in her ear to urge her to misdeeds. “This is a win-win, Rey. Peace will end the war, secure the future of the Republic, and end your problems. Your friends won’t be nagging you to kill me. We won’t be enemies any longer.”

She tosses the datapad on the couch and turns to confront him. “Don’t kid yourself—if we get a peace deal, you’re still not going to be popular with them.”

“I can live with that,” he deadpans.

“And what about the Jedi?” That’s the biggest reason she returned to the Republic.

“No Jedi.”

“I’m the Jedi liaison to the Chancellor. That’s the position that gives me the standing to argue to her and to the others in leadership. You know that, right?”

“No Jedi.”

“Is it just the name that bothers you?” Rey wonders. “Can we be the Knights of the Republic or something like that?”

“Let the past die, Rey. No Jedi.” 

No deal. “That won’t work. That’s a dealbreaker.”

Ben seems to be expecting that posture. He immediately counters, “Then you can be the last Jedi. Call yourself what you will, but you may not train anyone. Especially not Finn. You train him, and I’ll kill him.”

“You’re more Jedi than I am—you’ve been trained,” Rey grumbles and pouts a little.

“We’ll get to that, I promise.” Ben knows how undertrained and overpowered she is. He knows how angry she is about Plagueis destroying Luke’s books. “Maybe when we get a peace deal and things calm down, we can train in person. But until then, we can train over the bond.”

The bond . . . She hates the bond, and he knows it. But he starts trying to convince her it can be a good thing. “I don't want the bond to be just meetings and war. I want it to be you and me. Rey, we could make the bond into so much more.”

He looks so earnest, so hopeful again. It sways her . . . a little. But she’s worried they are talking past one another again. “You and me. What does that mean?”

“Even if we can’t be together, we can still share our lives.”

“Share our lives—how? How??” she sputters in frustration, “I don’t know what that means! I don’t know what we are! There isn’t a word for what we are . . . ”

“The First Order thinks you’re my wife.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “We’re back to that again?”

“It was the best way to explain you and to protect you.” Ben looks a little sheepish as he adds, “I didn’t think you would mind since on Jakku you said you wished we had run away together.”

Rey shifts her weight as she makes a face. “I did say that, didn’t I . . .” Plus, she just kissed him in his flagship hangar bay this morning.

“My commanders think you really are Palpatine’s granddaughter. They think he made Snoke marry us. You didn’t like it, so you rebelled and sided with his enemies.”

“I guess that’s believable.”

“I had to give them a reason to respect you. If you’re a Palpatine, you’re First Order royalty.”

She sees the logic. “So Darth Vader’s grandson married Darth Sidious’ granddaughter . . . I suppose that’s as good a story as any for your crowd.”

“It’s also true. This bond is like a marriage,” he contends.

Yes, she knows that’s how he likes to think of it. “Til death do us part?”

He nods. “And since the Force won’t let you kill me—“

“I’m stuck with you?”

“Yes.” Ben flashes that closed mouth, lopsided smirk that reminds her of Han Solo. “We’re Mr. and Mrs. Supreme Leader.”

“Great,” she sighs. “Just great.” But enough about them. Talking about them makes her nervous. And Ben standing so close has the bond buzzing with unspoken attraction. He’s very compelling when he talks of peace for them and for the galaxy.

Rey changes the topic back to his offer. “So what are you offering the Republic?”

“I will refrain from invasion.”

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Like what?” 

He’s making her do the counteroffer. Well, okay. Rey thinks a moment and comes up with the obvious issue. “How about you say you’re sorry for Hosnia?”

“I’m not sorry. And that was on Snoke’s watch.”

She points out, “You’re the Supreme Leader now, so you’re the one to apologize. Maybe you could commit to a ban on super weapons while you’re at it,” she muses.

“Why would I do that?”

He’s serious. Looking at his expression, Rey thinks Ben is as unrepentant and unredeemed as ever. Kylo Ren doesn’t think he has done anything wrong. So while a lot has happened, nothing has changed since that moment in Snoke’s throne room when he first asked her to join him. 

And what’s more—the Force seems to agree with Ben. Luke Skywalker gave her the lesson that you can be Light and be good, and still be wrong. But Rey is trying to wrap her head around the idea that you can be Dark and be bad, and also be right. Ben has long been a proponent of the idea that both sides of the Force have their purposes. She’s heard his theories repeatedly. They’re persuasive, but she has always held back from complete agreement. But today, between his healing and his ultimatum, he’s starting to convince her. She never would have expected the first true peace offer to come from a Sith Apprentice.

Still, the super weapon thing is a no-brainer. “No one wants another Hosnia.”

He shrugs. “I’ll think about it.”

“The Republic is going to want some acknowledgment of wrongdoing,” she continues thinking out loud. “The First Order started this war. The Republic is going to have to be convinced that you’re trustworthy . . . that you’re not going to restart the war sometime in the future because you’re at least a little reformed.”

“I’m not reformed. What I am is winning.”

“So, ‘sorry, not sorry, Kylo Ren?’” she complains. “That’s not going to convince the Republic.”

“You’re thinking about this all wrong. A ceasefire isn’t about saying ‘I’m sorry.’ There is no sorry for Hosnia like there was no sorry for Alderaan. There can never be an acceptable atonement for that sort of war crime. No punishment will ever bring those worlds back. You just accept it and move on.”

“But—"

“Peace is about power, Rey.” Ben speaks of his proposal from the objective perspective of the Sith Apprentice. “This offer is about drawing lines to establish and acknowledge power. The Republic needs to get a deal now while they can.”

“Why is that?” she challenges.

“There are three scenarios,” he argues back. “We agree to a deal, I invade the Core and we agree to a deal, or I invade the Core and I win outright.”

She scoffs. “You can’t invade the Core.”

“Watch me. It won’t be pretty,” he answers sharply. But he’s back to wheedling fast. “You could be the hero Jedi peacemaker . . . brokering the end to a war that has claimed trillions of lives.”

That role has appeal. But she’s not letting Ben or his followers off the hook. “You need to apologize for Hosnia. Most of those lives were on Hosnia.”

He shrugs, indifferent as always to the cost of his plots on his enemy’s side. “I’ll apologize for Hosnia before I’ll agree to a ban on superweapons.”

“Oh, no,” she stops him. “I think those two points are linked.”

Looking handsomely devilish, he now uses her arguments against her, neatly turning the tables. “See? You can do this!” Ben urges. “Who better to haggle out a peace deal than the girl who bartered scrap for a living?”

“That’s different.”

“Not really. You can do this. Do it for me—do it for the galaxy--do it for the future.”

He’s standing close again, cheerleading for her even as he cheerleads for his cause. And looking weirdly noble while doing it. For as always, the altruism in Ben Solo suckers her in.

Drat! He’s in her thoughts. Ben smirks. “You owe me—you did just try to kill me.”

“Quit complaining,” she huffs, “you’re still alive. I’m the one who almost died.”

That rejoinder only advances his point. “I saved you . . . again.”

“Stop making me feel guilty,” she grumbles, looking everywhere but those deep brown eyes of his. They’re entirely too seductive in the half light. “It won’t work. These strong-arm tactics—they’re your default approach.”

“Except with you.”

“Yes, with me!” she fumes. “You put me in an impossible position with the bond!”

“That was the Force.”

“That was you!”

“I didn’t want you to get too comfortable at the Republic.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly endear yourself to me.”

“Give me some credit,” he whines. “I’ve given you a long leash.”

“Leash? Leash??” she screeches, taking offense.

He nods. “Your average Sith would never tolerate a disobedient Jedi wife like you.” She sees the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he leans in to threaten, “It would be Force lightning until you relented.”

“Don’t you dare try!”

“Oh, I won’t. I’m merely pointing out what a woke Dark Sider I am. Look how enlightened and lenient I am,” he preens. “How reasonable and accommodating.”

She crosses her arms. “Is this supposed to convince me? Because it’s not working.”

“I’m not nearly as bad as I might be.”

“That’s your best argument?” Her eyes narrow. “No, wait—was that a threat?”

“Just a reminder. Are you getting this, Rey? I’m the bad guy who wants peace. The Dark foe who wants balance. And you—“

“I’m the Jedi who lies and tries to assassinate people. I’m not nearly as good as I should be,” she laments. Because, yes. She gets it. Neither of them is true to the archetype they supposedly represent.

“That’s a good thing,” Ben commiserates. “The old religions demanded strict adherence and punished imperfection. But I think our failures and doubts are what give us common ground for balance. I’m hoping a ceasefire will help us get there. Rey, more war won’t help matters.”

She tends to agree. In fact, the more she thinks about it, the more she likes the idea of a peace deal. Ever since Exogol, she has struggled to find her way as a Jedi. With the downfall of the old Jedi Order in mind, she has sought to use the Force for knowledge and defense, rather than attack. She tries to operate above petty politics. To remain separate and apart from matters of statecraft and warfare.

It caused her to resist Finn and Poe’s wishes that she join the regular military. She balked at their requests to participate in everyday missions and even resisted their assassination plans. It all led her to Jakku where she somehow turned Dark with the best of intentions. How did that happen? Mostly because she has no idea what she’s doing. She knows what a Jedi shouldn’t be. It’s deciding what a Jedi should be that’s the problem. But what is a Jedi, if they do not work for peace? Isn’t agreeing to advocate for peace a good thing, even if it allies her with a quasi-Sith?

But she worries, “What if the Republic rejects you?” What if this peace idea goes nowhere?

Ben answers like she expects. “Then I must follow through on my threat.”

“Can you?” she wants to know.

He nods. “As we speak, I have ships with strike teams jumping to the edge of the Rim. That will shorten the flight plan to the Core.”

She gulps. “So you’re preparing to invade?”

“The threat is real.”

“Can we get more time to decide?”

“No.” He steps close again now. “Will you help me? Will you work for peace? Rey, you must choose.”

She first chose in Snoke’s throne room and fled to the Resistance when her redemption strategy played out far differently than she hoped. Then, she chose on Zakuul and headed to the Republic to try to re-form the Jedi Order on a path to balance. Both of those choices did nothing to advance peace or balance. And still, Ben Solo persists as the Force’s favorite. _Dare she chose his path this third time?_

You must do what you feel is right. It was a lesson from Luke’s books, along with the instruction to heed the Force and to search your feelings. Rey does all of those things now. 

At twenty-one, she is still very much an inexperienced, uneducated girl self-raised largely on simple fairytales of good and evil and time-honored myths of right and wrong. She went from waiting for a hero to save her, to saving herself and becoming the hero. And that’s when she floundered. Because suddenly she discovered that heroes, namely Luke Skywalker and lately Poe Dameron, aren’t heroes all the time. She also discovered that some villains like Kylo Ren can be heroes too. It sent her into a crisis of faith and conscience that ultimately turned her Dark when trying to prove her virtue. And then, it was that same villain Kylo Ren who coaxed her back to the Light. He saved her a second time.

Things have come full circle. She set out to redeem Ben but he ended up redeeming her. Well, sort of. More like, he helped her to center herself. Is that balance? She isn’t sure. But there’s no denying that moment in the hanger bay was a breakthrough moment. 

She finally is ready to accept that Ben is right. He’s right about the Force. He might even be right about certain aspects of the Republic. He’s definitely right about many issues with the war. But here’s the thing—Ben can be right and she can be right as well. That’s the point of balance: the Dark and the Light both have wisdom and insight to contribute to the future. It clinches her decision.

She takes a deep breath and commits. “I’ll do it.” 

Ben looks as shocked as he is pleased. 

“I’ll do it. If the Republic agrees to negotiate a ceasefire, I’ll help work for peace. I want this war to end.”

His relief resonates in the Force. “You won’t regret this,” he promises. “This is destiny.”

  
  
She hopes he’s right. For in this, she is trying to do the work of the Force. Her friends might not agree, but Rey thinks a compromise for peace is the right course. “So what happens now?”

  
  
“We wait and see how the Republic responds.”

  
  
“Okay . . . ”

  
  
“If they accept, I will need you to go back.”

  
  
“I understand.” That’s the plan—she will return to work for peace from her side as he pushes for peace from his end.

  
  
Ben’s voice softens now as he slants her a measuring look. “That means this could be it for us . . . at least for a while . . . ”

  
  
He’s right. She feels the urgency keenly. The bond is buzzing in her mind, upping the ante for their attraction. It’s just like what she remembers from Zakuul and it’s how they ended up in bed together. In private when they are close—and not yelling at one another—the chemistry between them is strong. Ben’s pull feels magnetic. 

  
  
He nervously meets her eyes. Is he thinking what she’s thinking? Because right now, it feels like they are wasting precious time.

  
  
But the easy command of Kylo Ren has vanished. Ben is tentative now. The man is adamant about the Force, bold about his plans for the war, and convinced of his politics. But when it comes to himself? Well, Ben can be timid about saying what he wants. Rey understands. Confidence is highly situational, she knows firsthand. And it can take supreme confidence to be vulnerable enough to admit to what you need.

Again, he looks to her. “You said you wished we had run away together.”

  
  
“Yes,” she yelps, suddenly nervous as well. Does he not want her any longer? Has she pushed him away too many times? Perhaps. She can be a little harsh.

  
  
“You said that we could have been happy together.”

  
  
“Yes.” Is he going to make a move? 

No, he’s not. Ben keeps talking. “We may only have tonight.”

“Yes.” Yes to that statement and yes to everything. 

Despite all that agreement, they continue to stare at one another. It goes on so long it gets awkward. 

Through the bond, she can sense Ben’s fear of rejection. He’s worried she will turn him down because yet again he’s reading her mind and the situation wrongly. That’s happened before and it has him gun-shy. Worse still, they might repeat their night on Zakuul and once again part angry and upset because their personal issues overshadow their shared objectives. Ever the strategist, Ben is busy running scenarios through his mind for all the ways she will hurt him again. 

It’s illuminating. He needs encouragement. So, she echoes his words. “We may only have tonight.”

It doesn’t help. The man who just told the whole galaxy he will invade the Core if the Republic doesn’t capitulate to his demands is . . . well, hesitant. Battle doesn’t scare him, failure can’t dissuade him, but rejection terrifies him. 

She’s about to grab him and kiss him when finally Ben speaks. “Let’s be happy now. Let’s be together now.” 

He holds out his hand in invitation. It’s a gesture she’s seen several times before. But these are terms she can accept. She can’t join his cause or join his Darkness. But she can join his push for peace. And she can join him—Ben Solo the person. After today’s duel that she started and he ended by saving her life, she’ll never think of him as Kylo Ren again. She’s always known Ben had a strong streak of Light in him. Experiencing it in action today was everything. The enigmatic Ben Solo simultaneously glorifies the tradition of Darkness while he pushes it to the breaking point. He transcends all the old traditions and, if her brief stint on the Dark Side is any indication, he goads her to do the same.

And so, here they go again. “Join me?” Rey whispers, staring at his outstretched hand. 

“Yes. Join me.”

Rey’s face splits in a grin. “I thought you’d never ask.” Then she throws herself in his arms. 

It kicks off a never-ending kiss. A hungry, urgent, escalating kiss that is the spark that ignites a fire of passion. When their lips part, they are both panting for air, chests heaving. For this is not the quick, grateful smash of lips they exchanged in the hangar bay. This is the prelude to more.

Rey is not waiting around for Ben to make a move this time. She’s upfront with her habitual directness. “Where’s the bedroom?”

Ben doesn’t answer with words. He grabs her hand and starts tugging her forward. All his uncertainty has vanished. In the bedroom he strips down fast, revealing all that white pale muscle she remembers. It’s so gorgeously male next to her softer, slighter female. Growing up on Jakku without even a mirror, Rey has no vanity to speak of. Moreover, her feral orphan childhood never socialized her into life’s prevalent female insecurities. That means her inhibitions about sex have far more to do with fear of emotional closeness than they do concerns about her body. And while she has no romantic experience other than Ben, he is also a novice at lovemaking. It puts them on equal footing, and that’s perfect. 

As they collapse onto his bed, the feel of his heavy body covering hers is delicious. She can’t get enough of this man. Her hands are in his hair, stroking down his back, then squeezing as they travel lower. Her lips are on his mouth before she trails kisses down to suck at his throat and then to nip at his shoulder. 

Ben reciprocates with equal enthusiasm. His fingers glide over her lean curves, pinch at her nipples, and then explore below. He’s as excited as she is, and his body is ready. He throbs hot and hard against her hip. 

“Let’s go,” she breathes into his kiss. Rey is done with the lead up. She reaches down to clasp him and guide him in. Ben groans at her touch. It makes her smile. 

Whereas before sex was an intimidating mystery to be solved, now it is a pleasure to share. A way to seal their fragile, new accord and to deepen their connection from a mental to a physical level. This mating feels wild, untamed, and almost primal as the Force swirls around them. It’s a heady feeling to believe this moment is destiny, to know that it is blessed by their creator no matter what others might think. That it is forbidden makes it all the sharper and sweeter. For their rough and tumble passion transgresses old codes and defies current political differences. But that context is very true to who they are, individually and as a couple. She and Ben break the rules and always have. 

And oh, how good this feels. Rey revels in the physicality of sex. In the sweaty, slick, thrust and friction. In the wet, panting kisses and licks. She feels swept away by the enormity of their mutual desire. 

Is that her panting ‘yes!’? She can’t tell. With the bond open and all this physical connection, she has lost the limits for where she ends and where Ben begins. Two become one as both their bodies and minds join. His pleasure is her pleasure, and vice versa. It is rapturously strange, but also comforting. All Rey can think as his body plunges into hers is that in this moment, for perhaps the first moment, she is not alone.

She remembers sex being satisfying last time. But it was nothing like this. Their dyad bond makes sex a complete union. Had their minds been bridged when they did this on Zakuul, they would never have talked past one another. It would have been impossible. For there is no way for her or for Ben to hide their concerns and fears from one another in this state. That realization goes a long way towards convincing her that Ben is right—their bond is indeed the will of the Force. It’s the universe’s way of making sure they can’t misunderstand or avoid one another. It simultaneously keeps each of them from quitting the relationship and from winning the war. The bond makes them deal with each other, whether they want to or not, even when they are in conflict. It makes clear that the only path to success and happiness the Force will permit is a path they determine together.

That’s a tall order. Because she trusts this man . . . to a point. She admires this man . . . for some things. She agrees with him . . . at least on the big picture. She even likes him . . . well, sort of loves him . . . now and then. But still . . . they have so much conflict. It goes beyond the differences between just them, for they are surrounded by a galaxy in conflict and lurking out there somewhere is Darth Sidious. Worse still, there are the inner demons—the conflict that doesn’t come from others, it comes from within. This is the paradox born into each of them . . . the impulse to veer to extremes, even unwittingly, like she did on Jakku. They need one another, Rey understands now, if only to look after one another for lapses like that. It’s almost as if one purpose of the dyad is to take care of each other because the Force knows one person can’t go it alone for long.

As they loll in each other’s arms in the hazy, sated afterglow, Rey feels content. Maybe no one back at the Republic will understand her decision if they ever learn of it, but she’s comfortable with it. And while there are a lot of good reasons for their secret deal, there are personal motivations as well. Ben saved her twice. He said it on the _Supremacy_ bluntly: she was nothing, she was no one . . . but not to him. She could have been just another enemy to vanquish, but Ben insisted in making her a friend, then a student, next a lover, and now an ally.

He’s sifting her thoughts. “I knew you were special,” he confides as he nuzzles her neck. “I knew you were worth it. Long have I waited for this.”

In an argument setting, she usually chafes at his aggressive mental intrusiveness. But in bed in each other’s arms, it feels perfectly natural. The unique intimacy of the bond might actually be beneficial in this particular instance. She’s not good with feelings, and she’s especially bad when it comes to talking about her feelings. So Rey dispenses with any attempt at mental shields so Ben can know they are in accord. 

But there is one thought she feels unshy about voicing. “I wish we had more time.”

“We’re not done yet,” he answers firmly. “I want more, scavenger,” he teases huskily before he leans in for a kiss. They are commencing round two when Ben’s comlink rings.

They both flinch.

He meets her eyes and she immediately volunteers, “Answer it.” Their bedroom antics can wait. The fate of the galaxy cannot.

Ben holds out a hand and his comlink flies into it from somewhere on the floor where his discarded clothes are piled. He answers, “Ren.”

Rey hears the conversation. “Sir, the Republic has just uploaded a public response. They have also sent a separate private message to us. We have not viewed the messages yet.”

“I’ll be right there,” Ben answers before he hangs up.

Rey jumps out of bed, announcing, “I’m going with you.”

He thinks a moment and nods. “Get dressed.”

She swipes the borrowed clothes she was wearing off the floor but then thinks better of it.

Ben notices her hesitation. “You can’t wear that. Wear the pink dress.”

Yeah, she probably ought to. Showing up to Ben’s meeting dressed in his underwear or as the enemy Jedi is probably bad optics. So Rey runs to retrieve the fancy day gown and shoes. Her hair is still damp, so she twists it up into her Jakku trio of knots. It’s a neat hairstyle she can accomplish quickly without a mirror. 

Ben glances over as he yanks on his tunic. He snorts. “One part scavenger, one part princess.”

She shrugs and presents her back to him. “Give me a zip, will you?”

He obliges. “Here.” Ben sets the marching dark pink cape on her shoulders. He lifts the hood to settle it low over her head. “This is actually a great disguise. No one we pass in the hallway will recognize you.”

“Oh, I think everyone onboard knows who I am by now.” That hangar bay fight is probably the talk of the ship, along with the Supreme Leader’s brash offer to the Republic. 

Ben grins as he dons his own cape. “I think you’re right.”

She peeps up at him from beneath the voluminous hood and grumbles, “I feel like a pink Sith. A very pink Sith.”

“Your Sith days are over. Today, you’re Rey Palpatine, our undercover Jedi and my First Lady. Here.” He hands her back her sword and then he hooks his own at his waist. “Ready?”

“Ready.” 

As they dash to the door, Rey voices aloud her fear. “What if they say no?”

“I get to keep you.”

“Oh, come on!”

He’s serious. “Let the Republic think you’re my prisoner, but you can be my secret wife. We’ll train together and be together while the galaxy sorts itself out.” Ever the strategic Sith, he muses, “Who knows? Maybe the Republic will ransom you in exchange for a few systems.”

“I’ll escape before I let you do that,” she threatens.

“Then I need to make you want to stay,” he answers. “Come on.”

“I hope they say yes,” she frets as they stride forth hand in hand.

“I’m not sure I care,” he replies with a decidedly Dark smirk. “Because either way, I win.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic continues the ideas and groundwork laid in my Imperial-era stories, Twilight of the Gods (Darth Vader plots with Darth Plagueis to kill Darth Sidious and find Luke Skywalker) and Rule of Two (Crimson Dawn Maul plots with Darth Plagueis to form the Rebellion). It is not necessary to read those stories to understand this fic, but it provides the background for how and why we got to this place.


End file.
